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Number 62. 


SUBSCRIPTION PRICE, $12.00 PER TEAR. 


Feb. 16, 1861. 


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(Sidney Luska) 

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The Yoke of the Thorah 



BY 



SIDNEY LUSKA 

AUTHOR OF “ AS IT WAS WRITTEN/’ 
MRS. PEIXADA,” ETC. 


<1 




THE CASSELL PUBLISHING CO. 

31 East 17TH St. (Union Square) 


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Copyright, r896, by 

THE CASSELL PUBLISHING CCo 


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TO 

EDMUND CLARENCE STEDMAN, 


BXCEPT FOR WHOSE COUNSEL AND ENCOURAGEMENT THIS BOOK 
WOULD NEVER HAVE BEEN WRITTEN, IT IS NOW GRATE* 
FULLY AND AFFECTIONATELY INSCRIBED, 






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THE YOKE OF THE THORAH 


I. 

I T was the last day of November, 1882. The sun 
had not shone at all that day. The wind_, 
sharp-edged, had blown steadily from the north- 
east. The clouds, leaden of hue and woolly of 
texture, had hung very close to the earth. Weath- 
er-wise people had predicted snow — the first snow 
of the season ; but none had fallen. Rheumatic 
people had had their tempers whetted. Impres- 
sionable people, among them Elias Bacharach, had 
been beset by the blues. 

Elias had tried hard to absorb himself in his work ; 
but without success. His colors would not blend. 
His brushes had lost their cunning. His touch was 
uncertain. His eye was false. At two o’clock he 
had given up in despair, and sent his model home. 
Then he sat down at the big window of his studio, 
and looked off across the tree-tops into the lower- 
ing north. A foolish thing to do. It was a cheer- 
less prospect. In the clouds he could trace a hun- 
dred sullen faces. The tree-tops shivered. The 


2 THE YOKE OF THE THORAH 

whistling wind, the noises of the street, the drone 
of a distant hand-organ, mingled in dreary, enerva- 
ting counterpoint. His own mood darkened. 
Though he had every reason to be contented — 
though he had youth, art, independence, excellent 
health, sufficient wealth, and not a care in the world 
— he was nervous and restless and depressed. The 
elements were to blame. Under gray skies, which 
of us has not had pretty much the same experience ? 

By and by Elias got up. 

“ I’ll go out,” he said, “and walk it off.” 

He went out. For a while he walked aimlessly 
hither and thither. But walking did not bring the 
hoped-for relief. He and the world were out of 
tune. The men and women whom he passed were 
one and all either commonplace or ugly. The 
sounds that smote his ears were inharmonious. 
The wind sent a chill to his bones ; besides, it 
bore a disagreeable odor of petroleum from the 
refineries across the river. “ I might as well — I 
might better — have remained within-doors,” was 
his reflection. Presently, however, he found him- 
self in U nion Square. This reminded him that there 
was a little matter about which he wanted to see 
Matthew Redwood, the costumer. Elias had lately 
read Mistral’s “ Mireio.” The poem had fired his 
enthusiasm. He was bent upon making Mireio the 
subject of a picture. But, he had asked himself, 
what style of costume do the Provencal peasant 
women wear ? He had determined to consult Red- 
wood. Now, being in Redwood’s neighborhood, 


THE YOKE OF THE THOR AH. 3 

he would call upon the old man, and state the ques- 
tion. 

Redwood’s place was just below Fourteenth 
Street, on Fourth Avenue. The house had for- 
merly been a dwelling-house. In the process of 
its degeneracy, it had most likely passed through 
the boarding-house stage. At present it was given 
over without reserve to commerce. A German 
drinking-shop occupied the basement, impregnating 
the air round about with a smell of stale lager beer. 
Redwood used the parlors — large, lofty apartments, 
with paneled walls and frescoed ceilings — and the 
floors above. The frescoes, of course, dated from 
the dwelling-house epoch. Their hues were sadly 
faded. Here and there, in patches, the paint had 
peeled off. Three pallid cupids, wretchedly out of 
drawing, floated around the plaster medallion from 
which the gas fixture depended. Elias never en- 
tered here without thinking of the curious secrets 
those cupids might have whispered, if they had been 
empowered to open their painted lips. What 
scenes of joy and sorrow had they not looked down 
upon in the past ? Merry-makers had danced 
beneath them ; women had wept beneath them ; 
lovers had wooed their mistresses beneath them ; 
what else ? The intimate inner life of a family, of 
a home, had gone on beneath them. How many 
domestic quarrels had they watched ? How many 
weddings ? How many funerals ? What strange 
stories had they not overheard ? Of what strange 
doings had they not been mute witnesses ? Be- 


4 


THE YOKE OF THE THORAH. 


tween the windows stood a tall pier-glass. Its gilt 
frame was chipped and tarnished. A milky film, 
like that which obscures the eyes of an aged man, 
had gathered over its surface. The quicksilver 
was veined, like a leaf. It had a very knowing 
look, this ancient mirror, as though, if it had 
chosen, it could have startled you with ghostly 
effigies of the forms and faces that it had reflected 
in by-gone years. Elias Bacharach, who enjoyed 
having his fancy stirred, was always glad of an ex- 
cuse to drop in at Redwood’s. 

Elias climbed Redwood’s stoop, and opened the 
door. It had been dark enough outside. Inside 
it was darker still. It took a little while for Elias’s 
eyesight to accommodate itself to the change. 
Then the first object of which it became conscious 
was the sere and yellow pier-glass between the 
windows. Far in its mottled depths — down, that 
is to say, at the remotest and darkest end of the 
room — he saw Matthew Redwood, the costumer, in 
conversation with a young girl. The young girl’s 
face, a spot of light amid the surrounding shadows, 
had an instantaneous and magnetic effect upon 
Elias Bacharach’s gaze. He quite forgot his old 
friends, the cupids. Turning about, and drawing 
as near to the couple as discretion would warrant, 
he made the young girl the victim of a fixed, eager 
stare. 

She was worth staring at. From under the brim 
of her bonnet escaped an abundance of golden hair 
— true golden hair, that gleamed like a mesh of sun- 


THE YOKE OF THE THOFAH. 


5 


beams. In rare and beautiful contrast to this, she 
had a pair of luminous brown eyes, set like living 
jewels beneath dark eyebrows and a snowy fore- 
head. Add a rose-red, full-lipped mouth, white 
teeth, and faintly blushing cheeks ; and you have 
the elements from which to form a conception of 
her. She was chatting vivaciously with the master 
of the premises. In response to some remark of 
his, she laughed. Her laugh was as crisp, as mer- 
ry, as melodious, as a chime of musical glasses. 
Who could she be, and what, Elias wondered. Prob- 
ably an actress. Few ladies, unless actresses, had 
dealings with the costumer. Redwood. Yet, at the 
utmost, she was not more than seventeen years old ; 
and her natural and unsophisticated bearing seemed 
in no wise suggestive of the green-room. Ah ! now 
she was going. “ Good-by,” Elias heard her say, 
in a voice that started a quick vibration in his 
heart ; and next moment she swept past, within a 
yard of him, and crossed the threshold, and was 
gone. For an instant, never so delicate and im- 
palpable a perfume, shaken from her apparel, 
lingered upon the air. Elias stood still, facing the 
door through which she had disappeared. 

Ah, good-day, Mr. Bacharach ; what can I do 
for you ? ” old Redwood asked, coming up and 
offering his hand. 

“ You can tell me who that wonderful young lady 
is,” it was on the tip of Elias’s tongue to reply : but 
he stopped himself. Without clearly knowing why, 
he was loth to reveal to another the interest and 


6 


THE YOKE OF THE THORAH. 


the admiration that she had aroused in him. He 
was afraid that his motive might be misconstrued, 
afraid of compromising his dignity, of appearing 
too easily susceptible in the old man’s eyes. So he 
put down his curiosity, and began about Mireio, 
demanding enlightenment on the score of Proven9al 
costumes. 

“ Proven9al costumes,” the old man repeated, 
with a twang that savored of New Hampshire ; 
** South-French, we say in the trade. Why, cer- 
tainly. I’ve got a whole lot of lithographs, that 
show all the varieties. But they’re up to my house. 
You couldn’t make it convenient to come and look 
at them there, could ye ? Then I’d lend you those 
that struck your fancy.” 

“ That’s very kind of you,” said Elias. “ Where 
do you live ? And when would it suit you to have 
me call ? ” 

** I live up in West Sixty- third Street, No. ; 

and you might drop in most any evening after 
dinner — to-night, if you’ve got nothing better to 
do.” 

** Very well ; to-night, then,” agreed Elias, and 
bade the old man good afternoon. 

He went back to his studio. He had got rid of 
his blues ; but he could not get rid of his vision of 
the golden-haired young lady. That, fleeting as it 
had been, had photographed itself upon his 
retina. Again and again he heard her tink- 
ling laughter. Again and again he breathed the 
evanescent, penetrating perfume that she had left 


THE YOKE OF THE THORAH. 


7 


behind her upon quitting the costumer’s shop. 
Excepting his mother, now dead, and the models 
whom he employed, Elias Bacharach had never 
known a woman, young or old, upon terms of 
greater intimacy than those required for bowing in 
the street, or paying one or two formal calls a year. 
Until to-day, indeed, he had never even seen a 
woman whom he had desired to know more closely. 
But this young girl with the golden hair had taken 
singular possession of his fancy. A score of ques- 
tions concerning her presented themselves for 
solution. Her name ? He ran over all the women’s 
names that he could think of, from Abigail down 
to Zillah, seeking for one that seemed to fit her. 
None struck him as delicate or musical enough. 
Her condition in life? Was she, after all, an 
actress ? If so, at what theater ? He did not care 
much for the theater as a general thing ; but if he 
only knew at which one she performed, he would 
certainly go to see her. Her age ? Had he been 
right in setting it down at seventeen ? Where did 
she live ? Who were her family ? Would he, Elias 
Bacharach, ever come face to face with her again ? 
What were the chances of his some time having an 
opportunity to make her acquaintance ? Perhaps 
he knew somebody who knew her, and could intro- 
duce him to her. Only, he was ignorant of her 
name, and therefore powerless to institute inquiries. 
How stupid he had been not to ask Redwood ; how 
absurdly timid and self-conscious ! But it was not 
yet too late. He would ask him at his house in 


8 


THE YOKE OF THE THORAH, 


the evening. Then, having identified her, it might 
be possible, by one means or another, to procure a 
presentation. Delightful prospect ! How he would 
enjoy talking to her, and hearing her talk, and all 
the while feasting his eyes upon the delicious love- 
liness of her face ! He wondered whether her char- 
acter accorded with her appearance. Was she as 
sweet and as pure and as bright, as she was beauti- 
ful ? He wondered — But it would take too long to 
tell all the wonderment of which she was subject. 
When evening came, Elias promised himself, old 
Redwood should gratify his thirst for information. 


II. 

A t eight o’clock Elias was ushered by a maid- 
servant into Redwood’s parlor. 

Redwood’s parlor was the conventional oblong 
parlor of the conventional New York house, con- 
ventionally furnished and decorated. It had white 
walls, black walnut wood-work, a gaudily stenciled 
ceiling, and a florid velvet carpet, into which your 
feet sank an inch, and which gave off a faint but 
acrid odor of dye-stuffs. For pictures there were 
three steel engravings — The I>ast Supper, The 
Signing of the Declaration of Independence, The 
Landing of the Pilgrims — all hung as near to heaven 
as the limitations of space would allow. The 
chairs were of mahogany, upholstered in sleek and 


THE YOKE OF THE THORAH 


9 


slippery hair cloth. Upon the huge sarcophagus 
which served for mantelpiece, a gilt clock, under a 
glass dome, registered five minutes past six, with 
stationary hands. This started one’s mind irresisti- 
bly backward, in quest of the precise point in time 
at which the clock had stopped, and set one to 
speculating upon what the condition of the world 
was then. Years ago, or only months ? In summer, 
or winter ? Morning or afternoon ? What of mo- 
ment was happening then ? Who was President ? 
Where was I, and what doing ? Perhaps — it was 
such an old-fashioned clock — perhaps I had not yet 
been born. In the corner furthest from the window 
there was a square piano, closed, and covered by a 
dark brown cloth, like a pall. Just above it, so 
that they could not be reached except by standing 
upon it, some book-shelves were suspended. These 
contained the “Arabian Nights,” “ The History of 
the Bible,” Cooper's novels, and an old edition of 
the “New American Cyclopedia.” Beneath the 
chandelier stood a center table, with a top of varie- 
gated marbles. This bore a student’s lamp, a 
Russia leather writing case, an ivory paper knife, a 
photograph of Mr. Emerson, and half a score of 
books. The literature of the center table was 
rather more seasonable than that of the hanging 
shelves. Greene's “ Short History of the English 
People,” “ The Victorian Poets,” “ Society and 
Solitude,” and the “ Poems of Dante Gabriel Ros- 
setti,” testified that somebody had modern in- 
stincts, testimony which was corroborated by an 


10 


THE YOKE OF THE THOEAH. 


Open copy of “ Adam Bede,” laid face downward 
upon the sofa. Erlias wondered who somebody 
might be. 

Presently old Redwood entered, in dressing- 
gown and slippers. He carried a large bundle 
under his arm. 

“ Here,” said he, are the plates I spoke of. 
Run them over, and pick out those that please ye.” 

The examination of the plates occupied perhaps 
a quarter-hour. When it was finished, Elias 
thanked the old man, and began to make his adieux. 
Then, abruptly, as though the question had but 
just occurred to him, “ Oh, by the way,” he inquired, 
in a tone meant to be careless and casual, “ can you 
tell me who that young lady was — the young lady I 
saw down at your place this afternoon ? ” 

** Young lady ? ” queried Redwood, with a blank 
look, scratching his chin, and knitting his brow. 
“ Down to my place ? What young lady ? ” 

“ Why, a young lady with golden hair. You 
were talking to her when I came in.” 

** Oh, with golden hair — oh, yes.” The blank 
look gave way to an intelligent and slightly quiz- 
zical one. ** But why do you want to know ? ” 
She’s such a remarkable bit of coloring,” ex- 
plained Elias ; “ the finest I’ve seen this long while. 
I’d give my right hand to be allowed to paint her.” 

‘‘ Your right hand ! Rather a high offer that, 
ain’t it ? ” 

Well, but there’s not much danger of its being 
accepted.” 


THE YOKE OF THE THORAH 


II 


“ I don’t know,” said Redwood, reflectively, “ I'm 
not so sure.” 

“ What ? ” cried Elias. The syllable did duty 
for expletive and interrogatory at the same time. 

I say I’m not sure but it might be managed.” 

Breathlessly : “ But what might be managed ? ” 

Redwood’s meaning was clear enough ; but it 
seemed to Elias too good and too surprising to be 
true. So he chose to have it set forth in terms of 
positive affirmation. 

“ Why, what are we talking about ? But she 
might be got to sit for ye.” 

“You don’t say so? Are you serious? How?” 

“ Well, we’re pretty well acquainted, she and I. 
I might propose it to her.” 

“ Do — do, by all means. But is there any likeli- 
hood of her consenting'? ” 

“ Why, yes, I guess she'd consent — that is, if I 
urged her.” 

“ Oh, well, you will urge her, won't you ? ” 

The old man closed one eye, and twirled his 
mustache. “ Hum ; that depends. You must make 
it worth my while.” 

“ Worth your while ? ” faltered Elias, surprised, 
and somewhat shocked, at discovering old Red- 
wood to be so mercenary. “ Well — well, what do 
you want ? ” 

“ I want — let me see. Well, I guess I want the 
picture. You must make me a present of the 
picture.” 

“ Oh, come ; that’s unreasonable.” 


12 


THE YOKE OF THE THORAH. 


** I thought you said you’d give your right hand 
I shouldn’t have much use for that. So I’ll take 
your handiwork, instead.” 

“ That was a figure of speech. I’ll pay a fair 
price, though. Name one that will satisfy you.” 

I’ve just done so.” 

Oh, but that’s ridiculc^us.” 

“ Well, that’s the only price I’ll talk about. And 
I’ll tell you this, besides : she never’ll sit for you 
at all, unless I advise her to. She sets great store 
by my opinion. You promise me the picture, and 
I’ll guarantee you her consent.” 

It’s asking a great deal. It’s asking far too 
much.” 

All right. Then say no more about it.” 

But—” 

** Oh, you can’t beat me down, Mr. Bacharach. 
When I say a thing, I mean it. You’ll only waste 
your breath, trying to haggle with me. The picture, 
or nothing — those are my terms.” 

Elias’s eyes were full of the young girl’s beauty ; 
his ears still rang with the music of her laughter ; 
the prospect that old Redwood held out was such 
an unexpected and such a tempting one : So be 
it,” he said impulsively. “ You shall have the 
picture.” 

“ It’s a bargain,” cried Redwood. ** Shake on 
it.” After they had shaken hands : ** When 
would you like to begin ? ” 

** At once — as soon as possible.” 

I’ll ask her to fix an early day.” 


THE YOKE OF THE THORAH. 13 

“ But are you sure ? Is there no chance of her 
refusing ? ” 

Now, haven’t I given you my word ? What 
you afraid of ? The sittings, of course, will be had 
at her residence, not in your studio.” 

“ Oh, of course. Just as she chooses about that. 
Is — is she an actress ? ” 

“ An actress ! ” The old man laughed. “ Bless 
you, no ! What put that idea into your 
head ? ” 

** Oh, I don’t know. I thought she might be. 
But her name — you haven’t told me her name.” 

** Her name — Excuse me a minute,” said Red- 
wood. 

He stepped to the door, stuck his head into 
the hall, and called at the top of his voice, 
** Chris .... tine ! ” 

“ Yes.” 

The word tinkled musically in the distance. 

“ Come down here to the parlor, will ye ? ” 

“ Yes, father.” 

Elias’s pulse bounded. Did he indeed recognize 
the voice ? What a ninny he had been making of 
himself ! How inordinately dense, not to have 
guessed their relationship from old Redwood’s 
assurance in answering for her. He felt awkward 
and embarrassed ; and yet he felt a certain excite- 
ment that was not at all unpleasant. 

Mr. Bacharach, permit me to make you ac- 
quainted with my daughter. Miss Christine Red- 
wood,” said the old man. 


14 


THE YOKE OF THE THORAH. 


Elias bowed, but dared not look at her to whom 
he bowed. He heard her bid him a silvery good- 
evening. Then he stole a side glance. Yes, it was 
she, she of the golden locks. 

“ Ha-ha-ha ! " roared old Redwood. Quite a 
surprise, eh, Mr. Bacharach ? ” 

“A — a delightful one, I’m sure,” stammered 
Elias. 

Well, now, then, sit down, sit down, both of 
you,” the old man rattled on. “ That’s right. 
There, now we can proceed to business. Chris, 
Mr. Bacharach here, an old customer of mine, is a 
painter, an artist — with an especial eye to fine bits 
of coloring, hey, Mr. Bacharach ? ” 

Oh,” Christine responded softly, her eyes 
brightening, and the pale rose tint deepening a little 
in her cheeks ; “ are you the Mr. Bacharach who 
painted that beautiful picture of Sister Helen at 
the last exhibition ? ” 

“ It’s very kind of you to call it beautiful,” said 
Elias, immensely surprised and flattered to find 
himself thus recognized by his work ; especially 
flattered, because he spoke sincerely when he 
added, “ I myself was discouraged about it. It's 
so entirely inadequate to the poem, you know.” 

‘‘ Why, it didn’t seem so to me. On the contrary 
I never quite appreciated the poem till I saw your 
picture — never quite felt all the terror of it. I 
think you made it wonderfully vivid. I remember 
how she bent over the fire, and how fierce her eyes 
were, and how her hair streamed down her breast 


THE YOKE OF THE THOR AH. 15 

and shoulders ; and then, the great, dark room, 
and the balcony, and the moonlight outside ! Oh, 
I liked the picture — I can't tell you how much.” 

“Well,” broke in old Redwood, “you two seem 
to be old friends. I don’t see as there was much 
use of my introducing you. But what I should 
like to know is, who was it a picture of ? Whose 
Sister Helen ? ” 

“Why, Rossetti’s,” explained Christine, laughing, 
“ The heroine of one of Rossetti’s poems.” 

“ Oh, so,” said the old man, with an inflection of 
disappointment. 

“ Are you fond of Rossetti, Miss Redwood ? ” 
Elias asked. “ I noticed you had his volume on 
the table, when I came in.” 

“ Oh, I adore him. Don’t you ? I think it’s the 
most beautiful poetry that ever was written — 
though, to be sure, I haven’t read all. But I don’t 
know any body else that agrees with me — unless 
you do. Now, my father, for instance. I was 
reading one of the sonnets aloud to him this very 
evening — just before the bell rang. He — what do 
you suppose ? He laughed at it, and called it 
rubbish.” 

“ I did, for a fact,” admitted Redwood. “ I can’t 
get the hang of that rigmarol. It’s too mixed up.” 

“ Well, I don’t pretend to understand every thing 
Rossetti has written,” said Christine ; “ not every 
single line. But that’s my fault,, not his. Some- 
times he’s so very deep. But the sonnet I read to 
you to-night — it was the one about work and will 


1 6 the yoke of the THOR ah. 

awaking too late, to gaze upon their life sailed by, 
Mr. Bacharach — that wasn’t the least bit difficult.” 

“ Well,” Redwood confessed, “ I like a poet who 
talks the English language straight. Shakespeare’s 
good enough for me, and Longfellow. But Chris, 
here, she goes in for all the modern improvements, 
especially poetry. One day I found her purse lying 
on the parlor table. Think, s’s I, I’ll open it, to 
put in a little surprise. By George, sir, it was 
stuffed out to bursting with slips of poetry cut from 
the newspapers ! And then, aestheticism ! Oscar- 
Wildism, I call it. She’s caught that, I don’t know 
where ; and she’s got it bad. Actually, she wanted 
me to disfigure the hard finish of these walls, here, 
with one of those new-fangled, aesthetic papers. 
But the Lord blessed me with some hard sense ; 
and so we manage to keep things pretty much as 
they air.” 

“ Air ” was Redwood’s way of pronouncing “ are,” 
when he wished to be emphatic. 

“ My father,” observed Christine, “ is a deep- 
dyed conservative, in music, literature, politics, art, 
^nd every thing else except costumes. In the mat- 
ter of costumes, I believe, he’s very nearly abreast 
of the times.” 

” Oh, you needn’t except costumes,” cried Red- 
wood. “ The science of costuming is a branch of 
archaeology. So that don't count. But look at 
here, Chris. What you suppose Mr. Bacharach 
and I have just been talking about ? Guess.” 


THE YOKE OF THE THORAH. IJ 

About — ? Oh, I can’t guess. I give it up.” 

“ About you.” 

Me ? ” 

“ You.” 

I hope he told you nothing bad about me, Mr. 
Bacharach.” 

“Oh, we weren't discussing your character. 
Men don’t gossip, you know. We were talking 
about having your portrait painted. I’ve made 
arrangements with Mr. Bacharach to have him 
paint your portrait.” 

“ Oh ! ” Christine exclaimed. Her brown eyes 
opened wide, and her cheeks reddened slightly. 

“And the question is,” Redwood pursued, 
“ when will you give him the first sitting ? ” 

“ Why, that is for you to say, father.” 

“Well, then, I say Sunday morning. How does 
that stvikQ yoUf Mr. Bacharach ?” 

“ Oh, any time will be agreeable to me,” replied 
Elias. 

“ Well, Chris, shall we make it Sunday morn- 
ing?” 

“Just as you please.” 

“ All right. Note that, Mr. Bacharach. Sunday 
morning, December third. I suppose you’d better 
send your apparatus — easel, and so forth — in 
advance, hadn’t ye ? ” 

“Yes ; I’ll send them to-morrow.” 

“ That settles it. And now, Chris, listen to me. 
I want to tell you a good joke. Perhaps you didn't 
notice, but when you were down to the shop this 


l 8 the yoke of the THOR ah 

afternoon, Mr. Bacharach here, he came in ; and 
he — ” And to the unutterable confusion of Elias, 
the merciless old man proceeded to tell his daugh- 
ter the whole story. He wound up thus : “ And, 
actually, Chris, he took you to be an actress. 
What you scowling at me for ? He did, for a fact. 
He can’t deny it. Didn’t you, Mr. Bacharach ? 
Didn’t you ask me if she wasn’t an actress ? ” 

Elias appealed to Christine. 

“ Your father is very cruel, isn’t he. Miss Red- 
wood ? ” 

“ He loves to tease,” she assented. Then, with 
a touch of concern, “ You mustn’t feel badly. He 
never means to hurt anybody’s feelings,” she added, 
and looked earnestly into Elias Bacharach’s face. 
That look caused him a sensation, the like of which 
he had never experienced before. His lip trem- 
bled. His breath quickened. His heart leaped. 
“ Thank — thank you,” he said, with none but the 
most confused notion of what he said, or why he 
said it. 

Pretty soon he took his leave. 

Elias dwelt in East Fifteenth Street. The house 
faced Stuyvesant Park. In this house, March 22, 
1856, Elias had been born. In this house. May 13, 
1856, Elias’s father had died. In this house, alone 
with his mother and her brother, the Reverend Dr. 
Felix Gedaza, rabbi to the Congregation Gates of 
Pearl, Elias had lived till he was twenty-four years 
old. Then his mother, too, had died. Since then, 


THE YOKE OF THE THOR AH. 19 

he and the rabbi had kept bachelor’s hall. It was a 
large, old-fashioned, red-brick house, very plain and 
respectable of exterior, and very bare, sombre and 
silent within. Elias had converted the front room 
on the top floor into a studio. Thus he had a north 
light and a wide view. In his childhood this room 
had been his play-room. During his boyhood it 
had been his bed-room. Now it was his work-room 
— consequently his living-room, in the most vital 
sense of the word. Its four walls had watched him 
grow up. The view from its window had been his 
daily comrade, ever since he had been old enough 
to have any comrade at all. In a manner, it had 
been his confidant and his counselor, too. It was 
his habit, whenever he had any thing on his mind, 
to station himself at that window, and look off 
across the park, and think it out. Hither he had 
come in sickness and in health, in joy and in sor- 
row, in the blackest moments of his discouragement, 
in the brightest moments of his hope. Here he had 
solved many a doubt, confronted many a disap- 
pointment, built many an air-castle, registered many 
a vow. He was twenty-six years old. Not a phase 
or episode of his development, but was associated 
in his memory with that view. 

Here, returning from Redwood’s on the last night 
of November, 1882, he sat down, and abandoned 
himself to a whole set of new emotions that had 
been let loose in his heart. He did not understand 
these emotions ; he did not try to understand them. 
If he had understood them, he might have taken 


20 


THE YOKE OF THE THORAH. 


measures to subdue them in their inception ; and 
then the whole course of his subsequent life would 
have been altered, and this story would never have 
been told. They were very vague, very strange, 
very different from any thing that he had ever expe- 
rienced before, and very, very pleasant. As often 
as he went over the events of the evening, recalling 
Christine’s appearance, and her manner, and the 
way she had looked at him, and the words that she 
had spoken, he became conscious of a sudden, de- 
licious glow of warmth in his breast. Then, when 
he went forward into the time yet to come, and be- 
gan to paint her portrait in imagination, he had to 
draw a long breath, a deep sigh of pleasure, so ex- 
hilarating and so fascinating was the outlook. By 
and by he was called back to the present, by the 
clock of St. George’s church tolling out midnight. 
He started, rose, stretched himself, went to bed. 
But an hour or two elapsed before he got to sleep. 
Christine’s golden hair and lustrous eyes lighted up 
his dreams. 


III. 

S UNDAY came ; and with it a warm sun, a blue 
sky, a soft, southerly breeze. It was one of 
those days,peculiar to our climate, which,though they 
may fall in the middle of winter, bear the fragrance 
of April upon their breath, and resuscitate for a 
moment in one’s heart all the keen emotions dead 


THE YOKE OF THE THOR AH. 2 1 

since last spring-time. Elias presented himself at 
the Redwood house shortly after nine o’clock. 
Christine smiled upon him, and gave him a warm 
little hand to press. Her father asked, “ How 
about costume ? Want her to make up ? ” Elias 
said, “ Oh, no ; what she has on is perfect.” That 
was a simple gown of some dark blue stuff, con- 
fined at the waist by a broad band of cardinal rib- 
bon. Her golden hair was caught in a loose knot 
behind her ears. Elias set up his easel in the 
parlor. Then he began the process of posing the 
model. This called for nice discrimination, and 
was productive of much mirthful debate. At last 
it was finished. 

“ Now,” said old Redwood, “ this is altogether 
too fine a day for me to spend cooped up in the 
house. I’ll leave you two young folks to take care 
of each other. I’m going to read my newspaper in 
the park. Sunday don’t come more than once a 
week, you understand. By-by, Chris. So long, 
Mr. Bacharach.” 

He went off. 

For a while Elias worked in silence. So great 
was the pleasure that he got from studying this 
young girl’s beauty, and endeavoring to transfer 
the elements of it to his canvas, that he never 
thought of how heavily the time might lag for her. 
But all at once it occurred to him. 

“Why,” he reflected, “I’m treating her for all 
the world as if she were a paid model. This won’t 
do. I must try to amuse her.” 


22 


THE YOKE OF THE THORAH 


Then he sought high and low for something to 
say, something that would be at once appropriate 
and entertaining. In vain. His wits seemed to 
have deserted him, his mind to have become a total 
and hopeless blank. In order readily and happily 
to manufacture polite conversation, one must have 
had experience. Elias had had none. Now, in 
despair, he saw himself reduced to taking refuge in 
the weather. 

“ This — er — has been an unusually mild fall. Miss 
Redwood,” he ventured. 

Yes, very,” she acquiesced. 

“ But the summer — that was a scorcher, wasn’t 
it?” 

“ Yes, indeed, dreadful,” she assented. 

“ You spent it in the country, I suppose ? ” 

Oh, no ; we staid in the city.” 

” Ah, did you ? So did I.” 

Indeed ? ” 

“Yes.” 

He waited for her to go on, but she did not go 
on. With a sense of deep discouragement, he con- 
cluded that he had entered a cul-de-sac. He must 
begin anew, and upon another topic. 

Presently, “ I hope you are not getting tired,” he 
said. “ Don’t hesitate to rest as often as you like.” 

“ Oh, thank you, no ; I’m not tired yet,” she 
answered. 

“ Generally,” he announced, standing off, closing 
one eye, and taking an observation over the end of 
his crayon, “ generally people who aren’t used to it, 


THE YOKE OF THE THORAH. 


23 


find sitting very irksome ; and even regular models, 
whose business it is, want to get up every now and 
then, and stretch themselves. But the painter him- 
self never wearies." 

“ Because he is so interested in his work, I sup- 
pose ? " 

“ Yes, of course. Why, sometimes, of a sum- 
mer day, I’ve painted for thirteen or fourteen 
hours at a stretch — from dawn till sunset — and 
then only been sorry that I could paint no more.” 

^‘It must be delightful to have an occupation 
like that — one that is a constant source of pleasure. 
It’s the same, isn’t it, with all kinds of artists — 
with musicians and sculptors ? ” 

“Yes, and writers. I know a man who is a 
writer — writes stories and poems and that sort of 
thing — and his wife says she has to use main force 
to get him to leave his manuscripts. Writers have 
the advantage of painters in one respect — they 
don’t need daylight. Indeed, I think many of 
them like lamp-light better. The lamp is sort of 
emblematic of their calling, just as the palette is of 
ours. I have read somewhere of quite a celebrated 
novelist — I forget his name — an Englishman, I 
believe — who shuts his blinds, and lights the gas, 
and works by gaslight even in broad day. That’s 
curious, isn’t it ? ” 

“ And foolish, besides ; because they say it’s 
very unhealthful and very bad for the eyes. I 
should think his novels would be awfully morbid.” 

“ I used to paint by gaslight when I was at the 


24 


THE YOKE OF THE THORAH 


League. But I don’t any more. It doesn’t pay. 
In the daytime your colors all look false and un- 
wholesome — hectic — as if they had the consump- 
tion. Of course, if you’re merely sketching, or 
working in black and white, it’s different.” 

Did you study at the League ? ” 

Yes ; and also under Stainar, in his studio.” 

Stainar ? At Paris ? ” 

Oh, no ; in New York. What little I know I 
have learned here in New York.” 

“Why, I thought every body had to study 
abroad — at Paris or Munich or Diisseldorf.” 

“ They don’t exactly /lave to. You can get very 
good instruction here. Stainar is a capital master ; 
and there are others. Of course, it’s desirable to 
study abroad, too. But I couldn’t very well. I 
have never been further than fifty or a hundred 
miles from this city in my life.” 

“ Why, how strange ! I haven’t either. But 
then, I’m a girl. You’re a man. I should think 
you would have traveled.” 

“ It was on account of my mother. She was a 
great stay-at-home ; and I never felt like leaving 
her. Since her death — two years ago — I haven’t 
had any wish to travel. I haven’t had the heart 
for it.” 

After a little pause, Christine asked softly, 
“ Have you any brothers or sisters ? ” 

“No, none. And my father died when I was a 
baby. So, except for me, my mother was quite 


THE YOKE OF THE THOR AH, 25 

alone. To be sure, she had my uncle, the rabbi ; 
but he’s not much company.” 

Oh, have you an uncle who is a rabbi ? ” 

“Yes — Dr. Gedaza, of the Congregation Gates 
of Pearl, in Seventeenth Street.” 

“ How interesting ! Tell me, what is he like ? ” 
“ Why, I don’t know. How do you mean ? ” 

“ What does he look like ? And his character ? ” 
“ Well, he’s a little old gentleman, a widower. 
He wears spectacles, and he’s got a bald head. 
He knows an awful lot of theology, but in point of 
worldly wisdom he’s as deficient as a child. Some- 
times he’s fairly good-natured, sometimes very 
severe. Generally he’s absent-minded — up in the 
clouds.” 

“ Has he a long white beard ? ” 

“ He has a beard ; but it’s neither long nor 
white. It’s short and black — though there may be 
a few white hairs scattered through it. There 
ought to be, considering his age. He’s — Let me 
see. He’s ten years older than my mother ; and 
she was thirty years older than I. That would 
make him sixty-six.” 

“ 1 have never seen a rabbi ; but I always thought 
they had long white beards, and wore gowns, and 
looked mysterious and awe-inspiring, like astrolo- 
gers or alchemists.” 

“ There’s nothing mysterious about my uncle,” 
said Elias, laughing, “ unless it be his prodigious 
learning; and nothing awe-inspiring, except his 
temper. That’s pretty quick. He wears an or- 


26 


THE YOKE OF THE THORAH. 


dinary black coat and white cravat, like a Prot- 
estant minister’s. You’d take him for a Protestant 
minister if you should pass him in the street.” 

^‘And he isn’t at all patriarchal or pictur- 
esque ? ” 

‘‘ Alas, no ; not that I have been able to dis- 
cover.” 

“ Oh, dear ; how disappointing ! ” 

After another little pause, Christine said : “ I 
haven’t any brothers or sisters, either ; and my 
mother died when I was three years old ; and my 
father is a great home-body, too. Isn’t it strange 
that our lives should have been so much alike ? 
Only, you’re a man and an artist ; and I’m a girl 
and have nothing to do but to keep house. I wish 
I loved housekeeping as you do painting. But I 
don’t ; I hate it.” 

“ That’s too bad. But then, it doesn’t take up 
all your time, and it doesn’t cause you such an end- 
less deal of worry and discouragement as painting 
does. You have plenty of time left in which to 
read, and see your friends, and enjoy life.” 

Oh, no, I don’t. You have no idea how many 
miserable little things there are to be done. And 
we only keep one servant. And she’s so stupid 
that I have to be standing over her all day long. 
It’s like a regular business — almost.” 

She had thrown a good deal of feeling into these 
utterances ; had emphasized them by bending for- 
ward, and lifting her face toward her hearer’s ; and 
by this time she was completely out of pose. 


THE YOKE OF THE THOR AH. ^7 

Didn’t she think she’d like to rest a little now ? 
Elias asked. 

She thought she would like to, for a few minutes, 
she said ; and getting up, she crossed over and 
looked at Elias’s canvas. All she could see were a 
few straggling charcoal lines. 

Oh,” she queried, “ is that the way you begin ? ” 

“ Yes ; I must sketch every thing in in black, first.” 

“ But how long will that take ? ” 

*‘That depends upon how often you let me 
come.” 

“ Well, if you come every Sunday ? ” 

“ Oh, it will take three or four weeks — may be 
more.” 

And then, how long before the picture will be 
finished ? ” 

“ I can’t tell exactly ; but if we only have one 
sitting a week, probably not till spring.” 

“ Oh,” she said, and said it with an inflection 
which Elias construed to be that of disappointment. 

“ Why, did you wish to have it finished earlier ? ” 
he asked. 

“ Oh, no ; I don’t care about that. I wasn’t 
thinking of that,” she answered, but still with an 
inflection which made Elias feel that her content- 
ment had been disturbed. He wondered whether 
he had said any thing indiscreet, any thing to 
hurt or to offend her. He could remember noth- 
ing. 

She resumed her pose. He could not- have told 
what it was, but there was something in her bearing 


2 S the yoke of the tmorah 

which prompted him to ask : “ Is the position un- 
comfortable ? ” and to urge : “ Don’t sit any more 
to-day, if you would rather not.” 

“ Oh, no ; the position isn’t uncomfortable. I’d 
just as soon sit,” was her reply, in the same un- 
happy tone of voice. 

Now, what could the matter be ? What had hap- 
pened to annoy her ? 

Please, Miss Redwood,” Elias pleaded, “ please 
be frank with me. Perhaps I am keeping you 
from something ? ” 

Her eyes were fixed dreamily upon the window- 
pane behind his shoulder. 

“ I was only thinking,” she confessed in a slow, 
pensive manner, “ of what a beautiful day it is, and 
that ” — She stopped herself. 

And that — ” 

“ That’s all. Nothing else.” 

“ Oh, yes, there was. Please tell me. And 
that—?” 

“ And that — now the winter is upon us — that we 
shan’t have many more like it. There.” 

“ Ah, I see ! And you were longing to be out of 
doors, enjoying it. No wonder.” 

She colored up and began protesting. 

“ Oh, really, Mr. Bacharach ; no, indeed — ” 

“ Oh, yes, you were. No use denying it. And 
so far as I’m concerned, I’ve done a good morn- 
ing’s work already. And, I propose that we go 
and join your father in the park — if you know where 
to find him ? ” 


THE YOKE OF THE THORAH, 29 

** Oh, yes, I know where to find him. Shall I 
put on my things ? One sitting, more or less — if it’s 
going to take so very, very long — won’t count, 
will it ? ” 

A few moments later they had entered the park, 
and were sauntering down a sunlit pathway. Chris- 
tine’s hair glowed like a web of fine flames. Roses 
bloomed in her cheeks. Her eyes sparkled. She 
vowed that there had never before been such a de- 
licious day. How soft the air was, and yet how 
crisp ! How sweet it smelled ! How exquisitely 
the leafless branches of the trees, gilded by the sun- 
shine, were penciled against the deep blue of the 
sky ! The sunshine transfigured every thing. What 
rich and varied colors it brought out upon the 
landscape ! What reds, what purples, what yellows ! 
Had Mr. Bacharach ever seen any thing equal to 
it ? Was it not a keen pleasure merely to breathe, 
merely to exist, upon such a day ? By and by they 
turned a corner, and came upon a bench. 

“Oh,” exclaimed Christine, halting abruptly, 
“ he’s not here.” 

“Who?” Elias asked. 

“ Why, my father.” 

“ Oh, to be sure ; I had forgotten.” 

“ This is his favorite bench. He always sits here. 
Now, what can have become of him ? ” 

“ Perhaps he has walked on a little.” 

“ I suppose he has. But he can’t have gone far. 
He never does. We’ll soon overtake him.” 


30 THE YOKE OF THE THORAH. 

At the end of another quarter hour, however, 
they had not yet overtaken him. 

“ I'm afraid we've missed him," she said ; 
“ though it's very strange, because he never goes 
anywhere else, but just in this direction. I think 
we may as well give up the search. But I’m a little 
tired, and would you mind sitting down and resting 
for a moment before turning back ? " 

I should like nothing better ; only, I must warn 
you that I haven't the remotest notion how we are 
to find our way out of here. The paths we have 
taken have been so crooked. I’ve entirely lost my 
reckoning." 

Ah, but I — I know the park by heart. I could 
find my way anywhere in it, blindfold, I think." 

Indeed ? How did you get so well ac- 
quainted ? " 

Oh, we’ve lived within a stone’s throw of it all 
my life. When I was a little girl I used to play 
here. Then I had to cross it twice a day, when I 
went to the Normal College. And since then I’ve 
made a practice of taking long walks here every 
afternoon. There’s scarcely a tree or stone that 
I’m not familiar with ; and I’ve discovered lots of 
delightful little places — nooks and corners — that 
nobody else suspects the existence of. Sometime 
I’d like to show you some of them. They’d be 
splendid to paint." 

By this time they were seated. 

“ Oh, thank you," said Elias, that will be 


THE YOKE OF THE THOR AH 3 ^ 

charming. And so, you went to the Normal Col- 
lege ? " 

Yes ; I graduated there last spring.” 

“ Graduated ! Why, I shouldn’t have thought 
you were old enough ! ” 

“ How old do you think I am ? ” 

“ Seventeen ? ” 

Oh, ever so much older. Guess again.’* 

“ Eighteen, then ? ” 

“ I’ll be nineteen in January — January third — 
just one month from to-day.” 

“Mercy! You’re very venerable, to be sure. 
And then, having graduated from the Normal Col- 
lege, what an immense deal of wisdom you must 
possess, too ! ” 

She laughed as gayly as though he had perpe- 
trated a rare witticism ; and then said, “ No, se- 
riously, I never learned much at the Normal Col- 
lege — I mean in the classes — except a lot of 
mathematics and Latin, which I’ve forgotten all 
about now. I learned a little from the other girls, 
though. Some of them were wonderfully intelligent 
and cultivated ; and they put me on the track of 
good books and such things. Shall we start home 
now ? ” (They rose and began to retrace their steps.) 
“Tell me, Mr. Bacharach, what is the one book 
which you like best of all ?” 

“ That’s rather a hard question. Suppose I were 
to put it to you, could you answer it ? ” 

“ Oh, yes. I think ‘ Adam Bede * is the greatest 
book that was ever written,” 


32 


THE YOKE OF THE THORAH. 


“ That’s saying a vast deal, isn’t it ? ” 

** Well, of course, I mean the greatest book of its 
kind — the most vivid and truthful picture of real 
deep feeling. I wasn’t thinking of scientific books, 
or essays, or histories, like Spencer, or Emerson, 
or Macaulay. I mean, it pierces deeper into the 
heart, than any other book that I have read.” 

“ Have you ever read ‘ Wilhelm Meister ? ’ ” 

“ No. I was going to, though. One of the girls 
lent me a copy — Carlyle’s translation. She said it 
was splendid. But when my father saw it he made 
me give it back. He holds very old-fashioned 
ideas of literature, you know ; and he says that 
Goethe is demoralizing. His taste in music is old- 
fashioned, too. He never will take me to hear 
good music. It bores him dreadfully. He likes to 
go to grand sacred concerts on Sunday evening, 
where they play Strauss and Offenbach, and then 
at the end * Home, Sweet Home.’ Strauss and 
Offenbach and even ‘ Home, Sweet Home ’ are very 
well of their kind ; but one tires of them after a 
while, don’t you think so ? I haven’t been at a 
Symphony or Philharmonic for more than a year.” 
“ Why don’t you go to the rehearsals ? ” 

“ Why, he won’t take me to the rehearsals, any 
more than to the concerts.” 

“ But you can go to them alone. They’re in the 
afternoon.” 

Oh, but I can’t bear to hear music alone. I 
I must have somebody with me, or else I don’t 
enjoy it at all. I always want somebody to nudge, 
when the music is especially thrilling ; don’t you ? ” 


THE YOKE OF THE THORAH. 


33 


“ Yes, one longs for a sympathetic neighbor,” 
Elias admitted ; and thought in his own soul, “ I 
wish the old man would deputize me ; it must be 
exceedingly pleasant to be nudged by her little 
elbow.” 

When they had reached the house, Christine 
asked him whether he wouldn’t come in for a little 
while ; and he replied that he guessed he would, 
for the purpose of putting away his paraphernalia, 
which he had left cluttering up the parlor. Inside 
they found old Redwood, who explained that he 
had departed from his custom that morning, and 
chosen quite a different quarter of the park for his 
outing. Elias stowed his things under the piano. 
As he was doing so, a bell rang below stairs. 

“ Dinner,” announced the old man. “ Come, Mr. 
Bacharach.” 

Elias began to make his excuses. 

“ Oh, none o’ that ! ” the old man cried, grasping 
Elias’s arm. “ Come down and take pot-luck ; 
and may good digestion wait on appetite.” 

Pretty soon Elias found himself installed at Red- 
wood’s table, with Christine beaming upon him 
from one end, and the old man carving a turkey at 
the other. 

Well, I declare, Chris, this is quite jolly, ain’t 
it To have company to dinner ! We two — she 
and I, Mr. Bacharach — we generally dine alone ; 
and as we’ve told each other about all either of us 
knows, time and time again, we don’t find it par- 
ticularly lively ; do we, Chris ? Now, Mr. Bach- 


34 


THE YOKE OF THE THOR AH. 


arach, I know that you Israelites — excuse me — you 
foreigners — don’t drink ice-water with your meals ; 
but as I haven’t got any wine to offer you, I’ll send 
out for some beer. Mary ! ” 

The maid appeared ; and old Redwood instructed 
her to purchase a quart of beer at the corner liquor 
store. 

“ You’ll have to go in by the side-door, Mary, 
because it’s Sunday. And if any policeman should 
ask what you’ve got in the pitcher, tell him it’s milk. 
Don’t be afraid. If he takes you up. I’ll go bail 
for you. Ha-ha-ha ! ” 

“ Father ! ” cried Christine, with a glance at once 
beseeching and reproachful. 

“ Beer,” the old man continued, moderating his 
hilarity, and adopting a commentative tone, “ beer 
is a great drink, mild, refreshing, wholesome. And 
it’s done a sight of good for temperance, too — more 
than all your total abstinence orators and blue-rib- 
bonites put together. I’m very fond of it, and 
always drink it with my lunch, down-town. There’s 
a saloon just under my shop. But Chris there, she 
can’t abide it, on account of the bitter. She likes 
wine — and wine — not being a capitalist — I call an 
extravagance.” 

“Yes,” said Christine, “I think wine is perfectly 
delicious ; and so pretty to look at, with its deep 
red or yellow. Once a friend of father’s sent us a 
whole box of wine — Rhine wine — and ” 

“And,” old Redwood interrupted, “and that 
innocent appearing young woman there, sir, she dis- 


THE YOKE OF THE THORAH. 35 

posed of every blessed drop of it ; she did, for a 
fact. What do you think of that ? ” 

Oh, father,” protested Christine, blushing beau- 
tifully, “ you ought not to say such a thing. Mr. 
Bacharach might believe you.” 

“ Well, any how, I wish we had some of it left to 
offer you, Mr. Bacharach,” said Redwood. “ But 
here comes the beer.” 

“ Oh, by the way,” put in Elias, addressing him- 
self to Christine, “ did you know ? They’re going 
to give the ‘ Damnation of Faust ’ at the Symphony 
rehearsal Friday afternoon — the great work of Ber- 
lioz. Have you ever heard it ? ” 

“ No ; but I have heard selections from it. I 
wish ” — bringing her eyes to bear upon her father 
— I wish I could go.” 

“ Well, why don't ye ? Who’s to prevent ye ? ” 

“ Will you take me ? ” 

“ Not I. But, Great Scott, what’s the use of 
being a pretty young girl if you've got to drag your 
aged father around after you ? Why don’t you get 
some young man ? I’ll bet there are twenty young 
fellows in this town, who’d only be too glad. But 
she, Mr. Bacharach, she scares them all away, with 
her high and mighty manners. She’s too par- 
ticular. She’ll die an old maid, mark my 
words.” 

Elias caught a glimpse of a golden opportunity. 

“I wish. Miss Redwood, I wish you would go 
with me,” he ventured, a little timidly, and waited 
anxiously for her response. 


3 ^ THE YOKE OF THE THORAH. 

“ There you are, Chris ! " cried her father. 

There’s your chance ! But ” — turning to Elias — 
‘‘but she won’t. You see if she will.” 

“ Oh, thank you, Mr. Bacharach ? That’s lovely. 
I’ll go with the very greatest pleasure.” 

Her eyes lighted up ; and leaving her seat, she 
ran around the table, and deposited a wholly irrele- 
vant kiss upon her father’s forehead. 

“ Ha-ha-ha ! ” laughed that gentleman, clapping 
his hands. “ You’re the first young fellow I’ve 
seen, Mr. Bacharach, who she thought was good 
enough for her. By George, Chris, there’s hope for 
you, after all.” 

“ Oh,” cried Christine, “ I’m so glad. I never 
wanted any thing more in my life, than I did to hear 
the — the — it sounds awfully profane, doesn’t it ? — 
‘ Damnation of Faust.’ ” 

“ Well, now,” said the old man, “ there’s nothing 
like killing two birds with one stone. So what I 
propose is this': I propose that you come up here 
Friday forenoon, Mr. Bacharach ; and then you can 
work for a while at her portrait. Afterward she’ll 
give you a bite of lunch — won’t ye, Chris ? — and you 
can tote her off to the concert. By the way, where 
does it take place ? At the Academy ? ” 

“ No ; at Steinway Hall.” 

“ And when does it let out ? ” 

“ At about half-past four, I think.” 

“ All right. Then I’ll meet you at the door when 
it’s over — my shop, you know, is just around the 
corner — I’ll meet you at the door and save you the 


THE YOKE OF THE THORAH, 


37 


trouble of bringing her home. How does that suit, 
eh ? " 

“ Very well," said Elias ; but he thought that he 
should not have minded the trouble of bringing her 
home. 

When he returned to the quiet, dark house on 
Stuyvesant Square, late that afternoon, he sat down 
at the big window of his studio, and went over the 
happenings of the day. He felt wonderfully light- 
hearted, wonderfully elated, as though he had 
drunken of some subtle stimulant. What a pleasant, 
interesting city New York was, after all ! How 
thoroughly one could enjoy one’s self in it ! The 
noises of it, mingling in a confused, continuous 
rumble, and falling upon his ears, sounded like the 
voice of a good old friend. It was an old friend’s 
face that greeted him, as he looked out upon the 
bare trees in the park. Every now and then he drew 
a deep, tremulous, audible breath. The colors faded 
from the sky. Dusk gathered. The bell of 
St. George’s Church rang to vespers. The street 
lamps were lighted. It got dark. Elias did not stir. 

Oh, what a sweet, natural, beautiful girl ! ’’ he 
was soliloquizing. And what a rough old bear of 
a father ! And what — what a heavenly time we’ll 
have on Friday ! ’’ 

He marveled at himself, it gave him such a 
swift, exultant thrill to think of Friday ; but the 
obvious psychological explanation of it, he never 
once suspected. 


38 


THE YOKE OF THE THORAH, 


IV. 


I ^OWARD the close of Friday’s sitting Elias 
said : ** You know, Berlioz has taken great 
liberties with Goethe’s text — quite altered the 
story, indeed, and given it an ending to suit him- 
self.” 

** That won’t matter much to me,” responded 
Christine, ** because I’ve never read ‘ Faust,’ and 
I have only the vaguest notion of what the 
story is.” 

“ Did it suffer a like fate to ‘ Wilhelm Meister’s ?’” 
** No ; but I can’t read German, and I didn’t 
know whether there was any good translation. Is 
there ? 

“Oh, yes; Bayard Taylor’s is beautiful. You 
ought to read it.” 

“ Then, besides, I had an idea that it was very 
deep and obscure — very hard to understand. Do 
you think I could understand it? ” 

“ I’m sure you could — all that’s essential. You 
could get the story and the human nature. I 
believe you’d find it even more moving than ‘ Adam 
Bede.’ ” 

“ Can’t you tell me the story ? Won’t you tell it 
to me now ? ” 

“ Oh, I should only spoil it.” 

But Christine begged him to give her the outline 
of it, pleading that she would enjoy the music so 
much more intelligently if she were not altogether 


THE YOKE OF THE THORAH. 39 

ignorant of the plot. So, during their luncheon, 
Elias related as best he could something of the love- 
story of Faust and Margaret. Christine listened 
with bated breath, and wide eyes fastened upon his 
face ; and at its conclusion she drew a profound 
sigh, and murmured : “ Oh, how sad, how sad ! " 

“ Now," said Elias, I must explain how Berlioz 
has tampered with it." Which he proceeded to do. 

They walked as far as Seventh Avenue and 
Fifty-ninth Street, where they took the University 
Place car. Elias thought he had never been so 
happy.' It was an exhilaration merely to share this 
young girl’s presence, breathing the same air that 
she breathed. The sunshine caught new radiance 
from her hair. Lambent fires burned in her eyes. 
There was no music that Elias would rather have 
heard, than the music of her voice as she talked to 
him. They had the car to themselves for the first 
few blocks ; but then it began to fill up with ladies, 
and at last chivalry compelled Elias to sacrifice his 
seat at Christine’s side. He clung to the strap in 
front of her, and looked down at her ; and she 
looked up at him ; and so, with their glances, they 
communed together, very rarely opening their lips, 
until, having reached Fourteenth Street, it behooved 
them to dismount. 

The music began. Christine sat forward in her 
chair, and listened with manifest appreciation. 
But she made no sign to her companion till the 
musicians had played, and the chorus sung, the 
first bar or two of the “ Peasants’ Rondo." Then 


40 


THE YOKE OP THE THORAH. 


she turned upon him suddenly, with eyes dilated 
and lips apart, and drew a quick breath, and 
uttered an ecstatic little “ Oh / ” The syllable 
sped straight to his heart, and started an un- 
familiar palpitation there. From that moment 
until the concert was terminated, both of these 
young people were in Heaven ; she, thanks to the 
marvelous music, which seized hold of her, and 
bore her away, like a blossom upon its bosom : 
he, thanks to the beautiful girl who was seated 
next to him, and whose eyes kept smiling into his, 
and whose breath for one priceless second fell 
upon his cheek. Every most trifling incident of 
that afternoon somehow engraved itself upon 
Elias Bacharach’s memory. Long afterward he 
recalled it all : how Christine was dressed, the 
shape of her bonnet, the color of her gloves, the 
fragrance of the rose that she wore in her breast ; 
how he had wrapped her cloak about her shoulders 
when she complained of a draught ; how she had 
beat time with her fan when the students sang 
their drinking song, and laughed when Brander 
sang the ballad of the rat, and looked grave when 
Gretchen sang “ There was a King in Thule,” and 
started, and paled, and caught her breath, and put 
her hand impulsively upon Elias’s arm, when Faust 
and Mephistopheles began their tempestuous ride 
into hell. He remembered it all, in exceeding bit- 
terness of spirit. He would have followed Faust’s 
example, and pledged his soul to eternal bondage, 
gladly, eagerly, if by doing so he could have 


THE YOKE OF THE THOR AH. 41 

won back the possibilities of that vanished after- 
noon. 

Old Redwood met them, as he had promised, on 
the curbstone in front of the exit. 

You'd better come up town and dine with us, 
Mr. Bacharach," he said. 

“ Oh, yes ; do, please," urged Christine. 

“ I wish I could," said Elias ; “ but, unfortu- 
nately, I must go home. The concert has lasted 
longer than I thought it would : and now they — 
my uncle, I mean — will be expecting me at home. 
Good-by." 

Christine gave him her hand. He watched her 
till she was lost to sight in the crowd. It had cost 
him a pang to separate himself from her. Now, as 
he saw her departing further and further away, it 
was like the gradual extinction of the light and 
the warmth and the beauty of the day. His heart 
sank. A lump began to gather and ache in his 
throat. He turned about and walked slowly home. 

Crossing his own threshold, he shivered, as one 
might upon entering a tomb. Somehow, his house 
seemed darker, bleaker, bigger, and more cheerless 
than it had ever seemed before. It was, as it always 
was, intensely silent. His footstep upon the marble 
floor of the hallway resounded sharp and metallic. 
He joined the rabbi in the latter’s study. They 
exchanged a few quiet words of greeting, and then 
sat motionless, without speaking, as though wait- 
ing for something to happen. The daylight slowly 
faded. By and by a star could be made out, shim- 


42 THE YOKE OF THE THOR AH. 

mering through the window. Both of these men 
rose to their feet, and put on their hats. The rabbi 
lighted a candle, and, with hands uplifted, intoned 
a blessing over it in Hebrew. With the candle 
flame he lighted the gas. Then, picking up 
a bulky calf-bound volume from the table, he 
began to read aloud from the Thorah, also in 
Hebrew. Elias paid scant heed. He heard the 
rabbi’s voice rise and fall in sonorous periods ; but 
his heart and his mind were elsewhere. 

“Now, Elias,” said the rabbi suddenly, “you 
read on from where I have left off.” 

He handed Elias the book, pointing with his 
finger to the place. Elias took it, and read me- 
chanically, pronouncing the words clearly enough, 
but giving no attention to the sense : 

“ ‘ And when the Lord thy God shall deliver 
them before thee, thou shalt smite them and utterly 
destroy them ; thou shalt make no covenant with 
them, nor show mercy unto them. Neither shalt 
thou make marriages with them ; thy daughter 
thou shalt not give unto his son, nor his daughter 
shalt thou take unto thy son. For they will turn 
away thy son from following me, that they may 
serve other gods ; so will the anger of the Lord be 
kindled against you, and destroy thee suddenly. 
But thus shall ye deal with them : Ye shall destroy 
their altars, and break down their images, and cut 
down their groves, and burn their graven images 
with fire. For thou art an holy people unto the 
Lord thy God : the Lord thy God hath chosen thee 


THE YOKE OF THE THORAH. 


43 


to be a special people unto himself, above all people 
that are upon the face of the earth.’ ” * 

“ * Above all people that are upon the face of the 
earth,’ ” echoed the rabbi. “ Amen.” 

With the melancholy December nightfall had 
come the Jewish Sabbath. 


V. 



'HOUGH nothing had been said about it, Elias 


1 took for granted that the Redwoods would 
expect him Sunday morning ; and accordingly, 
in the neighborhood of nine o'clock, he rang their 
door-bell. He found them ready for him. Old Red- 
wood sat behind him as he worked at the portrait, 
and conversation was general throughout. They 
asked him to stay to dinner, but he was afraid of 
abusing his welcome, and declined. He went home, 
shut himself up in his studio, and spent the after- 
noon thinking regretfully of the good time that he 
might have been having if he had only accepted. 

The first post Monday morning brought him a 
ticket for the private view of the Academy exhibi- 
tion to be given that evening. The ticket said, 
“Admit Mr. E. Bacharach and one.” Elias went 
to his writing-desk, and, on the spur of his impulse, 
wrote the following note : 


* Deuteronomy, vii., 2-6. 


44 


THE YOKE OF THE THOFAH 


“ No. — East Fifteenth Street, Monday. 

** My Dear Miss Redwood : — I wonder whether 
you would care to attend the private view of the 
coming exhibition this evening? There will no 
doubt be quite an interesting lot of people there, 
not to mention the pictures ; and perhaps -it might 
amuse you to look in for an hour or so. If you 
will say yes, I shall be very glad. 

“ Yours sincerely, 

“ Elias Bacharach.” 

This he inclosed in an envelope, and addressed. 
Then he sallied forth to the nearest messenger 
office, and had it sent. Then he returned to his 
studio to await her answer. 

But pretty soon he began to repent what he had 
done. Surely, upon such brief acquaintance, he 
had taken too great a liberty. What sort of an 
opinion would she have of him ? Of course, she 
would say no to his invitation. Oh that he could 
recall the note — the rash, impetuous note ! It was 
too late to do that ; and now he must suffer 
the consequence of his indiscretion, which would at 
least be a fall of great distance in her esteem. She 
would regard him as presumptuous and push- 
ing. She would laugh at him to herself, and with 
her father, to whom most likely she would show 
what he had written. Perhaps she would imagine 
that he was in love with her — girls are notorious 
for imagining such ridiculous things upon such 
slight provocation. He, certainly, would never 


THE YOKE OF THE THORAH 45 

have the hardihood to look her straight in the face 
again. He walked up and down the floor. Why 
didn’t the messenger bring her answer ? Though he 
knew, or thought he knew, that it would be a snub 
and a refusal, he was anxious to get it, all the same. 
Would the boy never come ? Was he purposely 
delaying ? Taking a malicious delight in making 
his employer wait ? Stopping upon some street- 
corner to spin his top ? Or — or had she simply 
disdained to vouchsafe to his request any reply 
whatever ? — Ah ! The door-bell ! Elias’s heart 
jumped into his mouth. He stepped into the hall, 
leaned .over the banister, and listened. 

He heard the maid undo the chain, and open 
the door. There was an interval of silence. Then 
he heard her shut it. Then, in a voice tense for 
excitement, “ Maggie,” he called, “ is it something 
for me ? ” 

“ Yes, sir ; a note.” 

He ran down stairs, and met the servant half-way. 
She gave him the note. “ Mr. Elias Bacharach, 
No. — East Fifteenth Street, N. Y. C.,” was its 
superscription, in a pretty, girlish hand. The 
paper had a faint, sweet smell — something like jas- 
mine, something like mignonnette. He carried it 
back to his studio, unopened. There, having 
closed the door, he went to his window, drew a 
long breath, and with trembling fingers broke the 
seal. Could he believe his senses ? Christine’s 
note ran thus : 

Dear Mr. Bacharach : — Thanks ever so 


46 


THE YOKE OF THE THOR AH. 


much, and I shall be delighted to go. I have always 
wanted to go to a private view, but have never 
been. I hope there are some of your pictures to 
be seen ; are there ? You don’t tell me at what 
hour to expect you ; but I’ll be ready at half-past 
seven. ' Sincerely yours, 

Christine Redwood.” 

Elias’s cheeks burned, his fingers trembled, his 
temples throbbed, he could feel the blood leap in 
his veins, as the meaning of this document became 
apparent to his mind. He read it again and again. 
He brought it close to his face, and breathed the 
dainty perfume it exhaled. The pleasure he 
derived from doing this was wholly disproportion- 
ate to the sweetness of the scent. By and by he 
put it back in its envelope, and deposited it in the 
drawer of his desk. But he did not leave it there 
long. In a little while he had it out, and was 
reading it again, and again inhaling its perfume — 
which, faint to begin with, had now almost quite 
evaporated. Still, enough of it remained to send 
an electric tingle along his nerves, and to cast a 
wonderfully vivid image of Christine upon the 
retina of his mind’s eye. For the rest of that day 
he was incompetent. He could not paint. He 
could not read. He could not sit still. He could 
only roam listlessly from place’to place, and wonder 
whether half-past seven would ever arrive. 

At twenty minutes past seven precisely, as he 
learned from his watch, he found himself at the 


THE YOKE OF THE THORAH, 


47 


foot of Redwood's stoop. No : he had traveled 
on the speed of his desire ; it would not do to be 
beforehand. The ten eternal minutes that lay 
between him and the appointed time he would 
while away by walking around the block. He 
walked slowly, trying to calculate just how many 
seconds, or fractions of a second, were consumed 
by each step. At last he had regained his starting 
point. He mounted the stoop, and rang the bell. 

The parlor was empty. Elias picked up Chris- 
tine’s volume of Rossetti, and absent-mindedly 
turned the pages. Oh, at what a break-neck pace 
his arteries were beating. 

Hark ! He heard a light footstep coming down 
the stairs. He rose. All at once, it seemed to 
him, there was a burst of sunlight and oxygen. 
She had entered. She was standing before him, 
smiling and bidding him welcome. She had on a tiny 
bonnet of dark red velvet, under which her golden 
hair, and her lily-white forehead, and her deep 
brown eyes, shone at their best. She carried her 
wrap over her arm — a fur-lined circular. In her 
left hand she held her gloves. Her right she gave 
to Elias. His heart fluttered to the verge of faint- 
ing as he touched it. How small it was; how 
warm and soft ! How confidingly it seemed to 
nestle in his ! By a mighty effort he subdued an 
impulse to carry it to his lips and kiss it. He had 
no idea of letting it go, and perhaps would have 
continued to hold it to this day, if she by and by 
had not drawn it away. 


48 


THE YOKE OF THE THORAH, 


“ Here are a couple of roses,” he said, handing 
her a tissue-paper parcel. 

She took them, and marveled at their loveliness. 
She fastened one to her dress, and forced him to 
wear the other in the lapel of his coat. She stood 
on tip-toe and pinned it there. The trimming of 
her bonnet brushed, his cheek. It was an instant 
of intoxication. He wondered whether she could 
hear his heart beat. 

It was kind of you to say that you would go. 
I was afraid you might not care to,” he began. 

On the contrary, it was kind of you to ask me. 
I am very glad.” 

She sat down, and drew on her gloves. He saw 
that she was having difficulty in buttoning one of 
them. 

Can’t I help you ? ” he asked. 

Then he held her hand, and buttoned her glove 
for her, and breathed the incense that rose from 
the flower at her breast. Then he wrapped her in 
her circular ; and they left the house. He offered 
her his arm. Her little hand perched like a bird 
upon it. 

“ I am so happy,” he said softly, and immedi- 
ately regretted that he had said it. 

“ So am I,” she said, still more softly ; and 
straightway his regret died. 

He looked into her eyes. Far down in them 
palpitated a mystic, tender light. Elias had to 
bite his tongue to keep from telling her then and 
there that he loved her. 


THE YOKE OF THE THORAH 


49 


At the exhibition he pointed out the distinguished 
people to her, and showed her the pictures which 
he thought were the best, and was happy, happy, 
happy. Now and then somebody would nod and 
say : “ How d’ye do, Bacharach ? ” and cast an ad- 
miring glance at his companion, which stirred his 
pride. Once a gentleman stopped and spoke a few 
words to Christine, and won a smile from her, 
which pricked his jealousy. He feared that it was 
not at all the proper thing to do, but he could not 
help asking, “ A friend of yours ? " “ Oh, no,” 

she answered ; “ only our old drawing teacher at 
the Normal College.” At that he was happy again. 
She wanted him to lead her straight to his own pic- 
ture at once. By and by they had reached it. The 
subject was “ The Song of Deborah.” The 
prophetess was represented as a woman of about 
fifty years of age, tall, stalwart, imperious- 
looking, with iron-gray hair, steel-blue eyes, and 
a head of stern and majestic beauty. Christine 
thought the coloring was superb, and, “ Where did 
you ever find such a wonderful face ? ” she asked. 

It is a face to make you afraid, it’s so strong, so 
proud ; and yet it is a face that you could not help 
loving ; there is something so good about it. Oh, 
I like it the best of all the pictures here.” Elias 
felt that he had not worked in vain. 

There was a great crush of people, and the air 
was close and hot, and the few seats where one 
might rest one’s self were all occupied ; so pres- 
ently Elias asked whether she wasn’t tired, and she 


50 THE YOKE OF THE THOR AH. 

confessed that she was — a little ; and they left the 
building. 

“ Now,” said he, “ it’s still early, and I for one 
am ravenously hungry.” 

“ Oh, are you ? That’s too bad,” was her guile- 
less response. “ But at home I shall be able to give 
you ” — timidly — “ some — some cold turkey.” 

“ No,” he said, “ I shan’t put you to that trouble. 
Let’s go to a restaurant.” 

And he led her to Delmonico’s. 

There, the momentous question, what they had 
better order, occasioned much grave debate, and 
resulted finally in the selection of a sweet-bread 
garnished by green peas. Elias thought that 
Beaune would be the wine best adapted to moisten- 
ing a sweet-bread, and accordingly Beaune was 
brought, as Christine remarked curiously, “ in a 
little basket.” She applied herself to the edibles 
with undisguised relish ; but all at once, pausing 
and looking reproachfully at Elias, she exclaimed, 
“ Why, you said you were ravenously hungry, and 
now you’re not eating a thing ! ” Indeed, she 
spoke the truth. His knife and fork lay unem- 
ployed beside his plate ; and he was doing nothing 
but gaze at her with fond, caressing eyes. 

“ Oh, I forgot,” he said, and began to eat and 
drink. 

They chatted busily during the repast — about the 
people who came and went, about the marvelous 
toilets of some of the ladies, about the decorations 
of the restaurant, about the haughty mien and 


THE YOKE OF THE THORAH. 


51 


supercilious manner of the French gentleman in 
evening dress who served them, about the view of 
electric-lighted Madison Square that they got 
through the window at which they were established 
— about a thousand trifles. Afterward Elias pre- 
served but a very dim remembrance of the words 
that they had spoken. He preserved a very vivid 
one of Christine's appearance — of how her eyes had 
glowed beneath her red bonnet, of how the rose he 
had given her had shone like a spot of flame in her 
bosom — and of the bliss that he had experienced 
in sitting opposite her, and watching the varying 
expressions of her face, hearkening to the vary- 
ing modulations of her voice, and realizing that 
she was trusting herself entirely to his protec- 
tion. 

Again by and by he had the privilege of helping 
her on with her circular, and of buttoning her 
glove. They got into a street car to go up town. 
The first half of that journey Elias found delight- 
ful. They had to sit very close together, to make 
room for other passengers ; and all the while Elias 
was conscious of the touch of her shoulder upon 
his arm. But, as he saw the end drawing near, and 
knew that the moment was not far off when he 
would have to leave her, his spirits began to sink. 
Why could not the distance be doubled, trebled ? 
What possessed the driver to race his horses so ? 
Surely, street car had never covered its tracks at 
such reckless speed before. He rang her door-bell 
for her, and tried to harden himself to the thought 


52 THE YOKE OF THE THOR AH. 

that in another minute he would have to say 
good-by. 

Old Redwood himself answered the door-bell. 

“ Come in for a moment, Mr. Bacharach, and get 
thawed out,” he said. 

Elias breathed freely. Here was a reprieve, at 
any rate. They went into the back parlor, and 
gathered around a cheerful grate fire. Christine 
gave her father an account of the evening’s doings. 
At last Elias screwed his courage up, and tore him- 
self away. Christine went with him to the vesti- 
bule. He got hold of her hand, and clung to it for 
the entire five minutes that it took him to pronounce 
his valedictory. 

Body burning, brain whirling, as if with fever, he 
walked home. A wild joy trembled in his heart ; a 
wild pain, too. He loved her. To-night, at last, 
for the first time, he had recognized this very pal- 
pable and patent fact. He loved her. There could 
be no doubt about it. With a sensation of genuine 
surprise, the simple fellow acknowledged to himself 
that he loved her — with genuine surprise and con- 
sternation. Perhaps some time she might love him 
a little in return. But even so, he knew that 
between her and himself there yawned a gulf, 
fathomless and impassable ; and in spite of his 
desire and his passion, he cried out, “ God for- 
bid ! ” 

He let himself into the house with his latch-key. 
Through the glass door of his uncle’s study, at the 
end of the hall, he could see that a light was still 


THE YOKE OF THE THOR AH. 53 

burning within. He threw off his hat and overcoat, 
and marched into the rabbi’s presence. 

How that good man would start,” he thought, 
if he should guess ! ” 


VI. 

T he rabbi’s study was a bare enough apartment, 
furnished with a faded carpet, three or four 
chairs, and a writing table. The walls and ceiling 
were kalsomined in slate color, the former being 
lined half-way up with book shelves. A student's 
lamp, with a green shade, burned on the table. 
The oil in it must have been pretty low, for it shed 
but a dim light, and gave off a strong, offensive 
odor. The rabbi sat with his back to the door, 
bending over what looked like a manuscript 
sermon. The top of the rabbi’s head was perfectly 
bald, and it reflected the lamplight like a surface 
of polished ivory. His little remaining hair and 
his beard were bluish black. His eyes, behind thick 
spectacles, were black, too — small, deep-set, bright, 
restless black beads. But his skin was intensely 
white, as white almost as the clerical collar that 
encircled his throat, and it looked as though it 
would feel chilly to the touch, like marble. The 
rabbi was a very little man, short of stature, spare 
of habit, with a frame and with features as slender 
and as delicate as a maiden’s. Yet he had not at 
all the appearance of a weakling. You felt at once 


54 


THE YOKE OF THE THORAH. 


the presence of a strong will and of an active, if 
not enlightened or profound, intelligence. You 
felt the presence of a person who could, .if he chose, 
be sufficiently good-natured, but who possessed 
also the capacity of becoming as hard and as cold 
as ice. 

At his nephew’s entrance the rabbi glanced over 
his shoulder. 

“ Ah, Elias,” he asked, in a tone which, though 
amiable, denoted very little interest, ‘‘ where do you 
come from ? ” 

“The Academy of Design. I’ve been at the 
exhibition.” 

“ So ? Have you any pictures there ? ” 

“ Only one. ^ The Song of Deborah.’ ” 

“ Ah ! Is it well hung ? ” 

“ Oh, yes — on the line.” 

“ That’s good. Some day I must drop in and 
see it.” 

On both sides the dialogue had been perfunc- 
tory. Now there befell a silence. The rabbi re- 
turned to his reading. Elias sank upon a chair, 
thrust his hands deep into his trowsers pockets, and 
fixed his eyes upon the carpet. For a while the 
ticking of the clock on the mantelpiece was the 
only sound. 

All at once Elias said : “ Oh, yes — I forgot — I’ve 
been at Delmonico’s, too.” 

“ Ah,” rejoined the rabbi, “ eating trepha food.” 

“ I ate neither pork nor shellfish,” Elias submit- 
ted. “ I ate a bit of sweet-bread. Of course it 


THE YOKE OF THE THORAH. 


55 


hadn’t been killed kosher. But is that such a great 
sin ? Some of our most pious Jews go to Delmon- 
ico’s. To-night, indeed, I saw Judge Nathan there, 
with his wife and daughters ; and he’s president of 
his congregation.” 

“ Small sins beget larger ones. It’s better not 
to commit even peccadillos,” said the rabbi. “ And 
eating trepha food isn’t merely a peccadillo. How- 
ever, you’re of full age. It’s not my place to cat 
you to account.” 

“ Speaking of sins. Uncle Felix,” Elias presently 
went on, “ tell me, what is the worst sin that a Jew 
could commit ? ” 

The rabbi’s eyes had strayed back to his manu- 
script. Lifting them, “ How ? ” he queried. 

Elias repeated his question. 

“ Why,” said the rabbi, “ there are the ten com- 
mandments, which you know as well as I do. 
They’re of equal force. Theft, adultery, murder — 
one is as bad as another.” 

“ That isn’t exactly what I meant. I meant the 
worst sin which a Jew, as a Jew, could commit — 
the worst infraction of the Thorah as it applies 
peculiarly to Israel. The ten commandments 
embody the common law of morality, which 
is as binding upon Christians as it is upon 
Jews.” 

“ Oh,” said the rabbi, “ that’s another question.” 

“ Would it be, for example, the desecration of 
Yom Kippur?” 

“ The desecration of Yom Kippur would be a 


56 


THE YOKE OF THE THORAH 


deadly sin ; so would the desecration of the Sab- 
bath ; so would disobedience to parental authority. 
But the most deadly of all, in my opinion, would 
be a forbidden marriage.” 

“ That is, marriage with a Christian ? ” 

Yes — with a Gentile, a Goy — with any one not 
of our own race.” 

“ That, you think, is the one sin which would be 
most unpardonable in the sight of the Lord ? For 
which He would inflict the severest punish- 
ment?” 

“ Yes, I think so. And it’s rather odd that we 
should speak of this just now, for at the moment 
when you came in I was reading a sermon on the 
very subject — a sermon written by your own great- 
grandfather, the Reverend Abraham Bacharach, 
of New Orleans, the first of your family who came 
to America. I was reading a sermon that he 
preached at the excommunication of a young man 
of his congregation, who had married a French- 
woman, a Catholic. Here it is.” 

The rabbi pointed to the manuscript that lay 
upon his table. 

“ Indeed ? ” questioned Elias. ‘‘ What does he 
say ? ” 

“ Oh, he agrees with me, that it is absolutely the 
most deadly of sins. He denounces it with a good 
deal of energy. There’s one paragraph here some- 
where that struck me as especially fine. Would 
you like to hear it ? ” 

“ Yes, I shouldn’t mind,” Elias assented. 


THE YOKE OF THE THOR AH, 57 

The rabbi picked up the manuscript and began 
to run over the pages, searching for the place. 

^*Ah, I’ve got it,” he said at last. ‘‘It comes 
just after a statement of the circumstances, as a 
sort of summing up. It’s in German. Shall I read 
the original or translate ? ” 

“ Translate, if you will.” 

The rabbi cleared his throat, brought the manu- 
script close to his eyes, knitted his brows and pro- 
ceeded thus : 

“ Well, it runs this way : ‘ He has defied the law 
of the Lord our God. Let him tremble and be 
afraid. He has dishonored the memory of his 
ancestors ; he has besmirched the name of his 
family ; he has broken the tie that bound him to his 
kinsfolk ; he has sent the father that begot him, 
and the mother that bore and suckled him, weeping 
on the way to their graves^ Oh, let him cast down 
his face and be ashamed. To his brothers and sis- 
ters, to those who were his friends and loved him, 
to the rabbi, the chazzan, the parnass, and the peo- 
ple of this congregation, and to all faithful Jews 
from one end of the earth to the other, he is as 
one who has died a disgraceful death. The anger 
of the Most High shall single him out. His cup 
shall be filled to the brim with gall and worm- 
wood. The light of the sun shall be extinguished 
for him. A curse shall rest upon him and upon all 
that concerns him. His wife shall become as a sore 
in his flesh. With a scolding tongue she shall be- 
shrew him. As a wanton, she shall shame him. 


58 THE YOKE OF THE THORAH, 

His worldly affairs shall not prosper. Misfortune 
and calamity shall follow wherever he goes. 
Whatsoever he puts his hand to, that shall fail. 
An old man, homeless and friendless, he shall beg 
his bread from door to door. His intelligence 
shall decay. He shall be pointed out and jeered 
at, as a fool that drivels and chatters. His health 
shall break. His bones shall rot in his body. His 
eyes shall become running ulcers in their sockets. 
His blood shall dry up, a fiery poison in his veins. 
And his seed also shall be afflicted. From genera- 
tion to generation- a blight shall pursue those that 
bear his name. For the blood of Israel mixed 
with the blood of a strange people, is like a sweet 
wine mixed with aloes. His sons shall be weak of 
mind and body. His daughters shall be ugly to 
look upon. To him and to his the Lord our God 
will show no mercy, even unto the brink of the 
grave. They shall be as if touched with the lep- 
rosy, shunned and despised of all men. To the 
Goy they will continue to be Jews ; but to the Jew 
they will have become Goym. The Lord our God 
is a jealous God. His love knoweth no bounds. 
His wrath is like a great fire that can not be put 
out. He shcwereth favors abundantly upon them 
that love Him and keep His commandments. The 
iniquity of the fathers He visits upon the children 
and the children’s children, even unto the third 
and fourth generations. Blessed be the name of 
the Lord ! ’ ” 

The rabbi had begun this reading in low and 


THE YOKE OF THE THORAH. 


59 


matter-of-fact accents; but as he proceeded, his 
voice had increased in volume and emphasis, 
and the last words rang forth, loud and resonant, as 
though they had been addressed to a multitude in 
the synagogue. The veins in his forehead stood 
out blue and swollen against the white skin, and be- 
hind the thick lenses of his spectacles you could 
see that his black eyes were flashing fire. He 
paused for a little, breathing deeply. By degrees 
the veins in his forehead grew small and smaller, 
becoming pale, flat lines, like veins in marble. Pres- 
ently, laying aside the manuscript, “ There, Elias,” 
he added, quietly, “ that is what your great-grand- 
father thought about intermarriage, and I guess 
there has never been a Bacharach to think differ- 
ently. I hope there never may be one, I’m sure. 
Why — why, what makes you so pale ? ” 

Am I pale ? I didn’t know it. The denuncia- 
tion is bitter — terrible. It gave me cold shivers.” 

“ Yes, terrible, so it is. But not exaggerated. 
It sounds pretty strong, but it couldn’t be called 
exaggerated. For really it’s only a simple state- 
ment of the truth, the facts. I’m going to quote it 
in my own discourse next Sabbath. It’s just like 
every thing else. Break a law, whether it be a 
law of nature, a law of the land, or the law of God, 
and you must expect to suffer the consequences, to 
be punished.” 

“ Yes, of course. And yet, somehow, it seems 
as though the punishment ought to be in propor- 
tion to the offense. Do you seriously, literally, be- 


6o 


THE YOKE OF THE THORAH. 


lieve that the Lord would punish such a sin with 
such frightful, far-reaching penalties ? ” 

With worse, even. No mere human mind can 
conceive, much less describe, the fearful forms the 
Divine vengeance would take. All we can do is to 
picture to ourselves the worst, and then say : It will 
be as bad as that, or worse. That’s what your grand- 
father has tried to do here. The Lord has expressed 
in perfectly plain language His desire that the in- 
tegrity of Israel should be preserved. That was 
the purpose for which this world was created and 
mankind called into existence. Now, to enter into 
matrimony with a Gentile is such a flagrant setting 
at naught of the Lord’s will — why, common-sense is 
enough to show the inevitable consequences.” 

But suppose a Jew should love a woman of an- 
other race — a Christian, for example ; what would 
you have him do ? Leave her ? Never see her 
again ? Give her up ? If he loved her, no pain 
that the Lord could inflict would be worse than the 
pain of that.” 

Hold your tongue, Elias ! ” the rabbi cried 
sharply. “ What you say is blasphemous, is a de- 
nial of the Lord’s omnipotence. May the Lord for- 
give you. No, no. His power to inflict pain, as 
well as to confer blessings, is measureless. What 
would I have the Jew do ? Why, of course, I would 
have him give her up, no matter how much the sac- 
rifice might cost him. But the case you put is not 
likely to arise. Love for a Christian woman ne'^er 
could enter a Jewish heart. Such a sentiment as a 


THE YOKE OF THE THOKAH. 6 1 

Jew might perhaps feel for her would be an unholy 
passion. She might fascinate his senses, but of 
true love, she could inspire none at all.” 

And yet, suppose, for the sake of argument, 
suppose that she could — that she had — that the 
Jew really did love her with true love, what then ? ” 

“ Why, then, as I say, I would have him renounce 
her, and abstain afterward from any sort of com- 
munication with her. I would have him pray, also, 
that his heart might be cleansed and restored to 
health ; for such love would be a spiritual disease.” 

Elias made no answer. The rabbi turned his 
attention to his lamp, the flame of which was splut- 
tering and palpitating, preparatory to going out. 

“ Pshaw,” he said, extinguishing it, “ I must have 
forgotten to fill it.” 

Then he struck a match, and lighted the gas. 

“ You have made me hungry and thirsty with so 
much talking,” he continued. “ Now I’m going 
down stairs to forage for something to eat. Will 
you come along ? ” 

“ No, I guess I’ll go to bed,” said Elias. Good-^ 
night.” 

But he did not go to bed, nor even to his bed- 
room. He went to his studio, and sat down in the 
dark at the window. 

It was a wondrous night — the sky cloudless, the 
air as clear as crystal. The moon, waning, was up, 
but out of sight in the south, hidden by the house- 
tops. Its frosty light bathed the prospect, like an 


62 


THE YOKE OF THE THORAH. 


ethereal form of dew, as far as eye could see. The 
branches of the trees were silvered by it. Their 
shadows were sharply etched upon the turf beneath. 
The yellow flames of the street lamps flared faint 
and sickly. The few human beings who now and 
then passed on the sidewalk opposite, had the 
appearance of mere black spots in motion. Only 
the largest of the stars dared to show themselves, 
and they trembled, and were pale, as if cowed by 
their luminous rival. In the north-west, the spires 
of St. George’s Church stood in massive profile 
against the deep, shimmering vault of sky. An im- 
pressive outlook, cold, serene, passionless ; of a 
sort to remind one of the magnitude and the inex- 
orableness of the material universe, and of the 
infinitesimal smallness and insignificance of one’s 
self, and to fill one’s mind with solemn doubts 
and questions. But it had no such effect upon 
Elias Bacharach. Never had his own self loomed 
larger in his eyes, never had it more exclusively 
absorbed his faculties, than at this moment, in the 
face of this moonlit view. 

Elias had been bred in the straitest sect of his 
religion ; a rare thing in this country in these days 
of radicalism and unbelief. From his earliest boy- 
hood down, his training, his associations, his family 
life, nearly every influence that had borne upon 
him, had been of a nature to make him intensely, 
if not zealously or aggressively, a Jew — to imbue his 
mind thoroughly with the Jewish faith, and to 
color his character to its innermost fibers with 


THE YOKE OF THE THORAH. 63 

Strong Jewish feelings. Besides, the blood of gen- 
erations of devout Jews coursed in his veins; it 
was tinctured through and through with Jewish 
prejudice and superstition. He had never been 
sent to school, lest in some wise his Judaism might 
be weakened by contact with the Christians. His 
uncle, the rabbi, had taken sole charge of his educa- 
tion. Pride of race had been an integral part of 
the*[curriculum. “ Never forget that you are a 
Jew, and remember that the world has no honor to 
bestow upon you equal to the honor that attaches 
to your birth. To be born in Israel is more illus- 
trious than to be born a prince ; the blood of Israel 
outranks the blood royal ; for the Lord our God 
created the heavens and the earth, the birds and 
the beasts, the flowers, the trees, the air, the sun- 
light, for the especial enjoyment of His chosen and 
much-beloved people. But remember, too, that if 
the Lord has vouchsafed to you this great and pecu- 
liar privilege, so He will exact from you great and 
peculiar devotion. Though a Gentile — because 
the Lord pays no heed to him — may commit cer- 
tain sinful acts with impunity, for you — upon whom 
the eye of the Lord rests perpetually — for you to ( 
commit them, would entail immediate and awful 
punishment. Though a Christian, for example — 
because he is of infinite smallness in the sight of* 
the Lord — may transact business on the Sabbath, 
if you — a Jew — were to do so, the Lord would 
surely visit you with some frightful calamity. You 
might be struck by lightning ; you might be afflicted 


64 


THE YOKE OF THE THORAH. 


with an incurable disease.” This was the sort of 
doctrine that had been dinned into Elias Bacha- 
rach’s ears from the time when he had first begun 
the studies preparatory to becoming Bar-Mitzvah, 
and to assuming, as the saying is, the Yoke of the 
Thorah. Heredity predisposed him to accept it. 
The occasion had never arisen for him to doubt it, 
or even to consider it in the light of his own intelli- 
gence. He had taken it for granted, just as he had 
taken his geography and history for granted, just as 
many wiser people than he, the world over, take 
their theology for granted every day. 

To a Jew such as this, nothing can be more intrin- 
sically repugnant than the idea of marriage with a 
Christian — or, more accurately, with a Goy, which 
term is applied equally to all human beings who are 
not of Jewish faith and lineage. The average Cau- 
casian would pretty certainly hesitate at the idea of 
marriage with a Mongolian. How much more posi- 
tive would his hesitation be, if race antipathy were, 
as it is in the case of the Jews, reenforced by the 
terrors of a supernatural religion. It is no figure 
of speech, but a literal statement of the fact, to say 
that an orthodox Jewish father would rather have 
his son die than marry outside of Israel. He would 
prefer a funeral to such a wedding. Indeed, such a 
wedding would be regarded as equivalent to a 
funeral. The name of the bridegroom would be pub- 
lished among the names of the dead in the Jewish 
newspapers. His parents, his brothers and sisters, 
his nearest relatives, would put on mourning for 


THE YOKE OF THE THORAH. 65 

him; and henceforward, if they should pass him in the 
street, they would refuse to recognize him. In the 
synagogue he would be excommunicated and cursed. 
All pious Jews would be enjoined from holding any 
intercourse whatever with him ; from speaking with 
him ; from buying of him, or selling to him ; from 
giving him food, drink, clothing or shelter ; from 
succoring him in danger or in sickness ; even from 
pronouncing his name. “ Be he accursed, and be 
his name forever accursed among men.” Further- 
more, all pious Jews would cherish the conviction 
that sooner or later the vengeance of the Lord 
would overtake and overwhelm him. They would 
predict the direst calamities, the most fearful retri- 
bution. Superstition never pays attention to statis- 
tics, and is never shaken by them. No conceivable 
misfortune that can fasten upon a human being in 
this world, but they would promise it to him. Pov- 
erty, disease, disgrace; an adulterous wife ; deformed 
children, unsound of mind and evil of heart ; what- 
ever the imagination can depict of horrible and dis- 
astrous would inevitably fall to his lot. 

In this faith, among these traditions, Elias Bach- 
arach had grown up. For hundreds, for thousands, 
of years, his ancestors on every side had nourished 
these superstitions.* 

* It would seem hardly necessary, yet it is no more than fair 
to say that among the better-educated and more intelligent 
Jews in America, orthodoxy of this stripe is not common. 
Even among them, notwithstanding, it prevails to a sufficient 
extent ; and among the ignorant classes it is the rule. It is a 


66 


THE YOKE OF THE THOR AH. 


And yet, an hour ago, when Elias had taken leave 
of Christine Redwood, his heart was palpitating 
with a myriad new and sweet emotions, for which, 
suddenly, at last, he realized that the right name 
was love — realized it, as has been said, with surprise 
and with consternation, for he had been unaccount- 
ably blind to his own condition until to-night. And 
during his walk home he had pictured to himself 
the exceeding joy that would be his if she should 
ever come to love him in return. And even now, 
the light of her eyes still shone in his memory, the 
scent of her garments still clung in his nostrils, the 
sound of her voice still vibrated in his ears, the 
touch of her hand was still warm upon his arm. 
Even now, as he looked out into the vast moonlit 
sky, and spoke her name softly to himself, a thrill 
swept electrically through his body. He loved her, 
he told himself ; and if he could not win her love, 
if he could not have her for his wife, the world 
would become a desert to him, his life would be 
wasted, he would rather die, here, now, at once. 
Perhaps Christine, too, was at this hour looking out 
of her window. Perhaps her eyes, as well as his, 
were filling themselves with the glory of the night. 
In this fancy, highly improbable as it was, he found 
much comfort. It was good to think that he and 

curious circumstance, however, that, in the majority of cases, 
those very Jews who have cast quite loose from their Judaism, 
and proclaim themselves “free-thinkers,” “agnostics,” or 
what not, retain their prejudice against intermarriage, and even 
their superstitions anent its consequences. 


THE YOKE OF THE THORAH. 


67 


she were enjoying something in common. The 
moonlight was like a palpable link connecting them, 
like a gossamer cord stretching between them and 
binding them together. Would that it might bear 
a message from him to her, and let her know of the 
love that was yearning in his bosom. Again he 
spoke aloud her name, caressing it as it passed his 
lips. And again his heart thrilled, intoxicated with 
love and hope. 

But all at once his superstition sprang upon him. 
All at once, like a flash of lightning in the darkness, 
the fear of the Divine wrath lit up his imagination. 
Every drop of blood in his body came to a stand- 
still and grew cold. He could feel his flesh creep, 
his hair rise on end. For a third time he pro- 
nounced her name ; but this time it escaped like a 
gasp of pain from between clenched teeth. Why 
had he ever seen her ? Why had he not understood 
the peril that he was running, and avoided it ? 
Henceforth, at any rate, he would never see her 
again. He would do as his uncle had said, give 
her up, tear her from his heart. No matter how 
hard it might be, he would do it, and so save her 
and himself from perdition. But the resolution had 
not taken shape in his mind before Christine’s face, 
pale and pleading, with pathetic, passionate eyes, 
came up visibly before him ; and then he was con- 
scious of nothing but of a great tenderness for her, 
an infinite need of her, a sharp pang of remorse 
that he should have been disloyal to her for an in- 
stant, a strong throbbing in his temples, a wondrous 


68 


THE YOKE OF THE THORAH 


tremor through all his senses. Yet, even while this 
vision was still haunting his sight, the voice of the 
rabbi began to ring hideously in his ears, repeating 
the anathema that his own ancestor had written ; 
and all the Jew in him shuddered at the sound. 

He covered his head and prayed. 

He remained in prayer until the dawn had begun 
to whiten the walls of his room. 

Then he sat down at his window, and watched the 
red and gold burn in the eastern sky, and wondered 
at the strange calm that had come to him. His 
prayer had been answered, he believed. He had 
prayed that his heart might be purged of the un- 
holy love that had stolen into it. Now he could 
think of Christine with complete indifference. Not 
a trace was left of the agitation which that thought 
had aroused in him a little while ago. 

“ The Lord has heard my prayer. I am not in 
love with her any more,” he said. 

He went through the rest of that week in the same 
indifferent condition — ate, drank, slept, painted, 
chatted with his uncle, kept the Sabbath, precisely 
as though Christine Redwood had never crossed the 
horizon of his world. 

I am not in love with her,” he assured himself. 
“ She is a pretty and pleasant girl ; but I am not in 
love with her, and never shall be.” 

The Jew had got the better of the man. 


THE YOKE OF THE THORAH, 


69 


VII. 

W HEN Elias woke up Sunday morning, he saw 
that it was snowing. He lay abed for a 
while, with eyes turned upon his window-pane, and 
watched the snow-flakes float lightly and silently 
earthward through the still air. The street below 
was noisy with the sound of shovels scraping the 
pavement. The daylight had caught a deathlike 
pallor from the whiteness round about. Elias won- 
dered whether he would be expected in Sixty-third 
Street, despite the storm. He got up and dressed, 
all the while balancing this question in his mind. 
But presently the weather itself decided for him. 
The storm ceased. The snow fell no more. The 
sun came out. 

He went up-town, entered Redwood’s parlor, and 
sat down facing the folding-doors that led into the 
back room. 

He was not in love with her. She was a pretty 
and pleasant girl, and all that ; but he was not in 
love *with her, and never would be. This is what 
he had repeated to himself again and again during 
the past few days. So be it. But then why — when 
all at once she appeared in the opening of the fold- 
ing-doors, and advanced toward him, proffering her 
hand, and wishing him good-morning — why did 
his heart stop beating ? Why did his breath be- 
come labored and tremulous ? Why did his lips 
quiver, his cheeks burn ? Why should the sight of 


70 


THE YOKE OF THE THORAH. 


her have had this effect upon a man who did not 
love her, who was not even on the point of loving 
her ? And then, when he took the proffered hand 
in his, and gazed down at her face, and breathed 
the air that her presence sweetened, why was his 
breast suddenly prerced by a strange emotion, half 
a pain, half an ecstatic pleasure, and why did he 
have to exert his utmost self-control, to keep from 
catching her in his arms, and kissing her ? What 
is the psychology of these phenomena, if he did not 
love her ? She wore the same blue gown that she 
had worn at all their sittings ; but it seemed to him 
that her face was paler, and that her eyes were 
larger and darker, than their wont. 

She bade him good-morning and withdrew her 
hand, and remained standing before him ; and he 
remained standing before her, vainly striving to 
think of something appropriate to say. But — such 
perturbation did her mere nearness cause him — his 
senses were dispersed, his tongue was tied. At 
last, however, he contrived to articulate five words. 
The sentiment was neither very novel nor very 
witty ; but it was at least creditable, and, let us 
trust, sincere. 

I hope you are well ? ” 

No,” she answered, “ I don’t feel very well.” 

Indeed ? I — I hope it is nothing serious.” 

“ Oh, no ; only a headache. And I feel 
lazy and chilly. I’m afraid I have caught a 
cold.” 

** Then I shan’t think of letting you sit for me 


7 'HE YOKE OF THE THORAH. 71 

this morning. We’ll wait about our next sitting till 
you are better.” 

“ It’s too bad to delay you so.” 

No, no, not at all. It won’t make the slightest 
difference. And now, I know you ought* to go and 
lie down. So I’ll take myself off. Good-by.” 

The last words were forced out with a manifest 
effort ; and the speaker made no visible move to 
accompany them by the act. 

“ Oh, must you go ? ” she asked ; and Elias 
thought her voice fell. 

“ Why,” he confessed, “ I should like nothing 
better than to stay ; only, I was afraid I might be 
in the way.” 

Oh, what an idea ! Won’t you come into the 
back room ? It’s warmer and cozier there.” 

In the back room a bright fire crackled in the 
grate. Old Redwood sat before it, feet on fender, 
reading his newspaper. He greeted Elias, without 
rising ; “ Oh, it’s you, is it, Mr. Bacharach ? Glad 
to see you,” and went on reading. 

Christine sank into a deep easy-chair at her 
father’s left. Elias seated himself next to her. 
He did not speak. He had no desire to speak. 
He would gladly have sat there all day in silence, 
simply enjoying the sight of her, and his sense of 
closeness to her. 

She said, “ It is a pity to have brought you clear 
up here for nothing, Mr. Bacharach. It makes 
me feel guilty to think of the time you are 
losing.” 


72 THE YOKE OF THE THOR AH 

“ My time,” he protested, “ is not of such great 
value ; and there’s no place where I could spend it 
so pleasantly.” 

“ I should have written you a note,” she added, 

telling you not to come ; but I had no idea I was 
going to feel out-of-sorts. I felt as well as usual 
last night.” 

“ I’m very glad you didn’t write the note,” he 
said, with haste and emphasis. 

“ Any way,” she reflected, “ you couldn’t have 
received it, could you? To-day being Sunday, it 
wouldn’t have been delivered till to-morrow.” 

He made no answer. At that moment he was 
gazing at a tiny white hand that rested on the arm 
of her chair, gazing hungrily at it, and thinking 
how he would like for a single second to touch it, 
to stroke it, to press it to his lips. The hand must 
have felt the influence of his gaze, for it began to 
move about in a restless, uneasy manner, and ended 
by hiding itself among the folds of her garment in 
her lap. Elias sighed, as it disappeared ; and then, 
with no obvious relevancy, remarked, “ This is the 
first snow of the year.” 

“ Yes,” she assented ; “ and now Christmas will 
be here pretty soon, and then my birthday. Do 
you know, Mr. Bacharach, it’s very unfortunate to 
have your birthday come right after Christmas ? 
Because, of course, you can’t expect to get presents 
so soon again. I want my father to change my 
birthday to July — make believe I was born on the 
third of July, instead of the third of January. 


THE YOKE OF THE THORAH 


73 


That would have a double advantage. It would 
make me six months younger.” 

“ But if I should do that,” argued the old man, 
“ I should have to apply to the legislature to have 
your name changed, too. We named you Christine, 
on account of your being born so near Christmas. 
If we shift your birthday over to July, we’ll have 
to call ye Julia.” 

“ Oh, then I’d rather have you leave things as 
they are. I should hate to be called Julia. Do 
you like Julia, Mr. Bacharach ?” 

“ Not nearly so well as Christine.” — It was de- 
lightful — so intimate, so confidential — thus to be 
allowed to speak her name in her presence. — 

Christine,” lingering upon the word, “ Christine is 
the prettiest name I know.” 

“ Your name ” — shyly — your name is Elias, 
isn’t it ? ” she asked. 

“ Yes, Elias. There have never been any names 
but three among the men of my family — Ephraim, 
Abraham, and Elias. My father’s name was Abra- 
ham, his father’s Elias, and so on back. The younger 
son, when there has been one, has always been 
called Ephraim. Old-fashioned, Bible names, you 
see.” 

‘‘ I had a second-cousin named Ephraim,” old 
Redwood volunteered. 

Christine said, “ I’m glad they didn’t name you 
Ephraim or Abraham. But I like Elias.” 

“ Do you, indeed ? Most people find it exceed- 
ingly ugly. When I was a boy, it used to make 


74 


THE YOKE OF THE THORAH. 


me quite unhappy. My playmates used to tease 
me about it.” 

“ How heartless of them ! And how stupid ! 
For it isn’t a bit ugly. It’s strong. It has so much 
character, so much individuality — Elias.” 

If it had been agreeable to be allowed to pro- 
nounce her name, it was trebly agreeable to hear 
her pronounce and applaud his own. Indeed, the 
quality of the name hereby underwent a consider- 
able transformation, and acquired a euphony to his 
ears that it had never possessed before. 

‘‘ Speaking of names,” continued Christine, “ do 
you remember those names that Rossetti mentions 
in ‘ The Blessed Damozel,’ and calls sweet sym- 
phonies ? ” 

“ I think Rosalys was one, and Gertrude another, 
weren’t they ? There were five altogether.” 

“ Magdalen was a third. But the book is right 
there on the table. Let’s look and see.” 

Elias got the book, sought the place, and read 
aloud : 

** * -Whose names 

Are five sweet symphonies, 

Cecily, Gertrude, Magdalen, 

Margaret and Rosalys.’ ” 

Christine said, I wonder, Mr. Bacharach, 
whether you will do me a kindness ? ” 

** You need not wonder. Of course I will, and 
gladly. What is it ? ” 

“ Read the whole poem aloud to me.” 

Elias read it to her. He read it with a good 


THE YOKE OF THE THOFAH. 75 

deal of fervor. To be permitted to read aloud to 
her a poem fraught with intense passion like “ The 
Blessed Damozel,” was the next best thing to being 
permitted to talk to her of his own love. And all 
the while, as he was reading, he was conscious of a 
dainty, subtle fragrance being wafted toward him 
from where his auditor was seated, and penetrating 
to his heart, and making it thrill. And whenever 
he lifted his eyes from off the page, they encount- 
ered hers, in the depths of which he could see 
burning a pale, strange fire ; and again his heart 
vibrated with a keen, exquisite thrill. 

When he had done, she exclaimed, softly but 
earnestly, “ Oh, how beautifully you read it ! 
You made thrill so here,” placing her hand upon 
her breast. 

At that he experienced the keenest and the most 
exquisite thrill of all. 

Pretty soon. Tell me,” she went on, “ which 
one of Rossetti’s poems do you like best of all ?” 

“ Oh ! ” said he, “ I should have hard work to 
choose. Yet, perhaps, I like ‘ The Bride’s Pre- 
lude ’ as well as any. But which do you ? ” 

You’ll laugh, if I tell you.” 

“ Oh, no, I sha’n’t. Tell me, please.” 

“ Well, the one that somehow moves me most 
deeply — it is one that I have scarcely ever heard 
praised or quoted — may be you haven’t even read it. 
It’s a little mite of a lyric — this.” 

She took the book, and quietly, slowly, intently, 
musically, read aloud the song, “ Even So.” 


76 


THE YOKE OF THE THORAH. 


** Those last lines," she added, “ sound like the 
wail of a soul — they are so hopeless, so passionate, 
so despairing. They suggest so much more than 
they say — such a deep, dumb grief. Sometimes 
they haunt my mind for hours and hours together, 
and give me such a strange heartache. What could 
it have been, the thing that separated them ? I 
suppose he must have done something base — some- 
thing that killed her love, so that he lost her for- 
ever. Yet I can’t understand why it should be so 
absolutely hopeless. If they really were all alone 
together, as he says, and she saw how dreadfully he 
had suffered, I don’t understand how she could 
help forgiving him and loving him again. Do you .> " 

And she repeated the verse : 

“ Could we be so now? — 

Not if all beneath heaven’s pall 
Lay dead but I and thou, 

Could we be so now ! ” 

She repeated the verse, and at the end she drew 
a long, tremulous breath. If she had noticed 
Elias Bacharach’s physiognomy, while she was 
speaking, she could not have failed to guess his 
secret. Pale cheeks, parted lips, and eyes riveted 
upon her face, told the whole story more eloquently 
than his tongue could have done. But her atten- 
tion was all for Rossetti’s poetry. 

“ Well," exclaimed old Redwood, “ that may 
be very fine sentiment. I’m not denying it is. 
But the grammar is what stumps me. When ‘ but * 


THE YOKE OF THE THORAH. 


77 


is used as a preposition, in the sense of ‘except,* 
it governs the accusative case. At least, that’s how 
I was taught at school. The line ought to read : 
‘Lay dead but me and thee,’ or ‘me and you.’ 
Ain’t that so, Mr. Bacharach ? ” 

“Well, I suppose it’s poet’s license,” said Elias. 

Folding his newspaper, and getting upon his 
feet, the old man continued, “ Well, I guess I may 
as well ’^go out and get shaved, Chris. I’ll leave 
you in the charge of Mr. Bacharach. Take care of 
her, Mr. B.” And he went- away. 

Elias was alone with her. 

She sat far back in her chair, looking through 
half-closed lids into the fire. He sat forward, upon 
the ultimate edge of his chair, and looked at her. 
His breath was coming hard and fierce. The blood 
was bounding in his veins. 

For a while neither of them spoke. 

By and by Elias broke the silence. 

“ Miss — Miss Redwood,” he began ; then 
stopped. 

“ Yes ? ” she queried. 

He began again, “ Miss Redwood — ” Again he 
stopped. His throat felt compressed, his mouth 
hot and parched. He knew perfectly well what he 
wanted to say ; but his heart trembled so, he could 
not say it. 

She, puzzled no doubt by these successive repe- 
titions of her name, lifted her eyes inquiringly to 
his. 

For an instant their eyes staid together. 


78 THE YOKE OF THE THOFAH. 

That was a memorable instant for Elias Bach- 
arach. A great wave of emotion took away his 
breath, made his body quiver, his head swim, as if 
with vertigo. He tried to speak. His tongue lay 
paralyzed in his mouth. 

Suddenly she looked down ; and a scarlet blush 
suffused her throat and cheeks. 

He leapt forward, fell upon his knees before her, 
caught her hand, and whispered — a tense, eager 
whisper, that clove the air like a flame — “ Christine 
— my darling / ” 

She drew her hand away. She trembled from 
head to foot. 

“ Don’t be afraid, my darling. Don’t tremble,” 
he whispered. 

But she did not cease to tremble. She neither 
raised her eyes, nor spoke. Her blush had died 
away, leaving her face very pale. Even her lips 
had lost their color. 

Christine,” he whispered, “ I could not help it. 
I love you. I could not keep it secret, Christine.” 

Shrinking from him, deeper into her chair, 
“Don’t — please don’t,” she pleaded, in a weak, 
frightened voice. 

Still in a whisper : “ I could not help it. I — I 
had to tell you. Oh, why do you shrink away from 
me, like that, and tremble ? Is my love hateful to 
you?” 

“ Oh, no, no, not that,” impulsively ; but then 
she blushed again, as if ashamed. 

“ Oh, my God ! God bless you ! ” he cried, with 


THE YOKE OF THE THORAH. 79 

a great sigh of relief. “ I was afraid it might 
be.'’ 

He leaned toward her, breathing swiftly ; and 
his eyes consumed her face. By and by, very 
gently, he spoke her name, Christine ! ” 

Her lips parted — “ Yes ? ” 

“ Christine — I love you — with all my heart and 
soul.” 

No response. 

“ Christine — do you believe me ? ” 

A long breath ; then a scarce audible “Yes.” 

“ Do you think ” — he paused to gain courage. 
“ Do you think it will ever be possible for you to 
care for me ? ” 

No answer. 

“ Christine — won’t you answer me ? ” 

She raised her eyes ; and for an infinitesimal 
fraction of a second they rested upon his. But then 
they hastened to seek refuge behind dropped lids, 
as if afraid of what they had seen and of what they 
had revealed. Again her cheeks blushed scarlet. 

Elias started. Suddenly, he threw his arms 
around her, and drew her to him hard and close. 
Her face lay against his shoulder. There was no 
sound in the room, save the sound of their breathing. 
At last she broke away. 

“Christine — do you think — perhaps— you do — 
care for me — a little ? ” 

“ I don’t know,” in a timid whisper. 

“ Not — not the least bit in the world ? ” 

“ I d-don’t know,” in a smaller and more timid 


8o 


THE YOKE OF THE THORAH. 


whisper still. “ I — I never thought of it till — till 
you spoke.” 

“ Oh, but now that I have spoken — now that you 
have thought of it — say — say that you don’t hate 
me. 

“ Oh, no ; I don’t hate you at all.” 

He took her hand and kissed it. It was burning 
hot. She drew it gently away. 

“ Don’t — please,” she said, very low. 

Again no sound. 

Again at length, Christine ! ” 

“Yes?” 

“ Do you mind my calling you by your first name 
— Christine ? ” 

“ No — not if you like to.” 

“Do you think — you — could ever call me — by 
mine ?” 

“ I don’t know.” 

“ Won’t you try ? ' It — it would make me very 
happy.” 

“ El-El-ias — ” so softly that it sounded more like 
a little sigh than like a word. 

“Oh! You make me so happy! But do you 
want to make me happier still ? ” 

“ What shall I do ? ” 

“ Tell me you are not sorry I love you.” 

“ Oh, no ; I am not sorry.” 

“ Tell me — tell me that you are glad.” 

“ Yes — I — I think — I am — glad.” 

“ Oh, my love ! Can’t you say just one thing 
more ? You know what. Please.” 


THE YOKE OF THE THOR AH. 8 1 

She breathed quickly. “ Perhaps,” she whispered. 

Again Elias threw his arms around her, and drew 
her close to him. This time she offered no resist- 
ance. Their eyes met. So did their lips. 

“ Oh, how hard your heart is beating ! ” she mur- 
mured softly. 

Presently they heard a footstep in the hall. 

‘‘ It is my father,” she said, moving away. 

“ Shall we tell him ? ” Elias asked. 

No, not yet. I will tell him after you have gone." 

The old man entered, clean-shaven, and redolent 
of the barber’s balmy touch. It was edifying, the 
matter-of-fact, unsentimental manner in which these 
young hypocrites thereupon began to talk and act. 
Yes, it was strange, how rapidly the snow had 
melted ; and it did look as though they might have 
a green Christmas after all ; and they neither of 
them believed in that lugubrious old proverb about 
a fat church-yard, any how ; and, of course, Mr. 
Bacharach would stay to dinner, wouldn’t he ? and, 
well, he would like to, very much indeed, but he 
didn’t want to wear out his welcome ; and, oh, there 
wasn’t the slightest danger of his doing that, was 
there, father? etc., etc. But whenever the old 
gentleman’s back was turned, they stole an eloquent 
glance at each other ; and now and then Elias found 
an opportunity slyly to snatch and press her hand. 

When he left, Christine went with him to the 
door. Never before had the simple process of 
leave-taking required such a length of time. 

He wandered about the street for a long while, 


S2 the yoke of the thorah , 

ere he went home. There, he mounted to his 
studio, and, as usual, sat down at the window. 
Could it be the same studio that he had worked in, 
the other day ? Could he be the same man ? He 
was as nearly delirious as a person in sound health 
can be, without going sheer out of his senses. His 
brain whirled round and round. It was impossible 
for him to carry on a consecutive or coherent pro- 
cess of thought. Dazzling glimpses of the happi- 
ness that the future held in store for him, alter- 
nated with exquisite throes of joy, as he recalled 
what had happened that very day. His heart kept 
thrilling, and swinging from hot to cold, like a 
thing bewitched. A sweet smell clung to the palm 
of his hand, at the spot where hers had lain. 

In bed he tossed about all night, murmuring 
Christine’s name, and remembering the way she 
had looked, and the words that she had spoken, and 
the kiss that she had given him, and all the rest. 
At last, without apparent why or wherefore, there 
began to haunt his mind that verse of Rossetti’s 
poetry, which, she said, had haunted hers. He 
could not silence it. It repeated itself in a hundred 
keys. Toward dawn he fell into a restless sleep, 
to the rhythm of it : 

“ Could we be so now ? — 

Not if all beneath heaven’s pall 
Lay dead but I and thou, 

Could we be so now ! ” 

But waking up, late next forenoon, he came to 
his senses — realized what he had done, and reflected 


THE YOKE OF THE THORAH 


83 


Upon it. He hardly dared to credit his memory. 
He hardly dared to believe that what he remem- 
bered was the very truth, and not an hallucination 
born of his desire. And yet — No ; dreams were 
not made of such circumstantial stuff. 

“ I love her, I love her,” he cried exultantly. 

And she loves me I ” 

What had become of his Judaism ? his race-pride ? 
his superstition ? Love, apparently, had swept them 
clean away. Not a vestige of them remained. At 
a touch, it seemed, love had converted Elias Bach- 
arach from the most reactionary sort of orthodoxy, 
to a rationalism, the bare contemplation of which, 
a few days ago, would have appalled him. 

Surely,” he argued, the Law of God as the 
hands of men have written it in books, is not to 
be weighed against the Law of God as the hand of 
Nature has written it in my own heart.” 

He could not realize that he had ever thought 
otherwise. He could not realize that he had ever 
shrunk in terror from the idea of marrying Christine 
Redwood. He could not realize that he had ever 
professed a creed by which such a marriage would 
have been accounted sin. When he recollected how, 
less than a week ago, that same creed had kept him 
awake, praying, all night long — when he recollected 
how, for six days, he had told himself that he did 
not love her, and never would — he was nonplused ; 
he could not admit it ; it was like the recollection 
of a bad, fantastic dream. 

The man had got the better of the Jew. 


84 


THE YOKE OF THE THORAH 


VIII. 

I ^HE man had got the better of the Jew ; and 
the man retained the upper hand. There 
came no reaction. Elias Bacharach’s Judaism — or 
so much of it, at least, as bore upon the question 
of matrimony — had apparently suffered sudden and 
total annihilation. Under the light of love, it had 
apparently behaved as those hackneyed images in 
the Etruscan tombs behaved under the light of the 
sun — collapsed into nothingness. Looking back- 
ward, and repeating to himself the views upon 
intermarriage, which, the rabbi said, there had 
never been a Bacharach to doubt, he was amazed 
at their glaring unreasonableness, at their enormity 
even, and could only ask incredulously, “ Is it pos- 
sible that I ever believed that rubbish ? " The phi- 
losophy of the matter was extremely simple. Elias 
had never bestowed upon the rabbi’s religious 
teachings any skeptical consideration. He had 
accepted them as facts stated upon authority — had 
taken the rabbi's word for them, just as he had 
taken the rabbi’s word for the boundaries of the 
State of Nebraska, and for the date of the Battle 
of Bunker Hill. But, now, when, for the first time, 
circumstances had led him to bring to bear upon 
them a little analysis and common-sense, to exercise 
a little his right and his power of private judgment, 
now their absurdity had become startlingly con- 
spicuous. Then, of course, his wish fostered his 


THE YOKE OF THE THORAH 85 

thought. Every spontaneous impulse of his nature 
aided and abetted his intelligence in its iconoclasm. 
He wanted — he wanted — to marry Christine Red- 
wood ; and a theology which taught that, merely 
because the accident of birth had made of him a 
Jew, and of her a Christian, such marriage would 
be sinful, thereby proved itself to be the offspring 
of prejudice and superstition. 

Christine had said that she would tell her father ; 
but on second thoughts she found that she lacked 
the proper courage ; and so Elias, not without 
some trepidation, had to take the mission upon 
himself. The old man, at the outset, professed no 
end of astonishment, and considerable indignation. 

So ! ” he cried. “ I engage you to paint my daugh- 
ter’s portrait, and you spend the time making love 
to her ! A pretty kettle of fish, as I’m alive ! ” 
But by degrees his amiability was restored ; and 
finally he remarked, “ Well, Mr. Bacharach, though 
you are a Hebrew, you’re white ; and any how, 
religion don’t worry us much in this household, 
and never did. I’m a Universaiist, myself ; and 
Chris — well, I guess no one knows what she is. 
One thing’s certain — she might have gone further, 
and fared worse ; she might, for a fact. You’re a 
perfect gentleman ; and you can’t help it, if you 
were born a Jew. You don’t look like one, and you 
don’t act like one. Of course, there’s'your name 
— Bacharach — a regular jaw-breaker ; but I shan’t 
stick on a name. It ain’t I that’s got to bear it ; 
and so long as Chris is satisfied, it ain’t for me to 


86 


THE YOKE OF THE THORAH, 


grumble. I guess she’ll smell about as sweet 
under it, as she does under her present one. You 
see, I agree with the Great Bard. Any how, if she’s 
made up her mind to have ye, I suppose I’ll be 
obliged to say yes, sooner or later ; and it’ll save 
time and trouble for me to say it sooner.” So it 
was arranged that they should be married early 
in the spring, that they should spend the summer 
traveling in Europe, and that in the autumn they 
should return to New York, and domicile them- 
selves under Redwood’s roof. 

” The man who marries my daughter,” stipu- 
lated the old gentleman, with a grim smile, “ has 
got to marry me. I ain’t pretty, but I’m solid ; 
and I’m not going to be separated from her in my 
old age. He’s got to fetch his traps, and live in 
this house, besides, because I’m used to it, and I 
don’t mean to quit it till I’m carried out horizon- 
tally. It’s big enough, and to spare, the Lord 
knows. Come and look it over.” 

Elias followed the old man from cellar to garret. 
On the third floor his conductor threw open a door, 
and announced. “ This is her room.” Elias’s mem- 
ory of the few brief seconds that he had been 
permitted to pass upon Christine’s threshold, look- 
ing into her room, breathing the sweet air of it, and 
noting its hundred pretty little girlish fixings — in- 
animate companions of her most intimate life — 
thrilled in his heart many a time afterward. Was 
it not for him, her lover, like a glimpse into the 
Holy of Holies ? 


THE YOKE OF THE THORAH, S7 

They were to be married in the spring. Now it 
was December. Meanwhile they had nothing to 
do but to make the most of the present. They 
saw each other nearly every day ; and those days 
on which something prevented them from seeing 
each other, were very long and very dark days to 
Elias Bacharach. How did they amuse them- 
selves ? Innocently enough, and with no sort of 
difficulty. If an exhaustive account of their doings 
were reduced to writing, it would seem very trivial 
and very monotonous ; but to them, basking in 
the light of new-born love, the trivial and the 
monotonous did not exist. High and low, far and 
wide, the world had been invested with the splen- 
dor, the mystery, and the majesty of the golden 
age. Yes, indeed : the period, long or short, dur- 
ing which first love holds sway over our hearts, 
tyrant though the ruler be, is notoriously our 
golden age, never to come but once. In this re- 
spect history does not repeat itself. Elias felt that 
each of his five senses had been sharpened, and 
that, moreover, he had acquired a sixth sense, a 
super-sense. The homeliest things, the most famil- 
iar sights, the commonest occurrences, took on a 
beauty, a significance, a suggestiveness, undreamed 
of until now. They aroused thoughts in his brain, 
emotions in his breast. He had used to regard 
New Yojrk as a somewhat sordid and unpicturesque 
metropolis : now he held it to be the most roman- 
tic city of the earth. Did she not dwell within its 
walls? Certainly, in former years, the Eighth 


88 


THE YOKE OF THE THORAH. 


Avenue horse-railway, with its dingy cars and 
shabby passengers, had had no special fascination 
for him ; but now the bare mention of its name 
would rouse a sentimental tenderness in his bosom. 
Was not that the line by which he traveled when he 
went to see her ? Everywhere he became aware 
of new aspects and new influences, to which hereto- 
fore his consciousness had been hermetically sealed. 
In a letter written by him to Christine at about this 
time — for, despite the frequency of their meetings, 
they found it necessary to keep the post-office 
busied on their behalf — Elias indulges in the fol- 
lowing rhapsody : 

“ I have waked up from a long sleep, a period of 
torpor, diversified by vague dreams, into fresh, 
keen, sensitive life. I have begun to love ; and 
until one begins to love, one is only half born. 
Until one loves, half the faculties, half the activi- 
ties, which one possesses, lie in a dormant state, 
are merely potential, latent. For love — is it not 
the very soul and life of life itself? I know a 
poem which says : ‘ Through love to light ! Oh, 
wonderful the way, that leads from darkness to the 
perfect day ! ’ That expresses exactly what I 
mean. The life I lived before I knew you, and 
began to love you, compared to the life I live now, 
as the dusk of early morning compares to the 
brilliant day that comes with the rising of the 
sun. Where there was chili, now there is warmth. 
Where there was silence, now there is music. 
Where there was gloom, now there is glory. 


THE YOKE OF THE THORAH, 


89 


Things that were before invisible or insignificant, 
now force themselves upon my attention, and have a 
meaning and a solemnity. It is as though you had 
touched me with a vivifying wand — as though you 
had given me to drink of the elixir of life. Well, 
you have given me to drink of the elixir of love ; 
and that is even more potent and marvelous in its 
effects. These are not mere phrases, Christine, 
dashed off in enthusiasm, without being weighed. 
They are an imperfect expression of very real and 
practical facts. See the direct and manifest influ- 
ence that my love of you has exercised upon my 
work, my art. I used to tell myself, with a good 
deal of complacency, that the artist was a sort of 
priest ; that he ought to be a celibate, that he ought 
to consecrate the whole of himself to his art, that 
the muse should be his wife, that no mortal woman 
should divide his homage with her. I had one 
formula that pleased me especially. I said, ‘ The 
muse is a jealous mistress. She will brook no 
rivalry. To win her favor, one must renounce the 
world, and devote himself exclusively to her ser- 
vice.’ And I used to fancy that I really believed 
this high-flown nonsense. But what sophism ! 
What cant ! What puerile pinning of my faith to a 
hollow set of words ? For the very first require- 
ment to successful accomplishment in art — what is 
it ? Isn’t there a spiritual equipment as much 
needed by the artist, as indispensable to his pro- 
ductiveness, as his material equipment of palette, 
paint-tubes, and brushes? Why, the very sine- 


90 


THE YOKE OF THE THORAH. 


qua-non is this ; that he shall live. I mean, that 
he shall be intensely human ; that he shall think 
clearly, feel deeply, and see truly — see the truth, 
the whole truth, and the very heart of the truth. 
Until one has lived in this sense, one’s art will 
never be real art. It will only be a nicer, a more 
complex, species of mechanics. It will be the body 
of art, without the spirit of it. Well, did I live, did 
I think, feel, see, before I knew you, and loved 
you ? A little, perhaps ; vaguely, incompletely ; 
by fits and starts ; as in a glass, darkly. But now ? 
Oh, it is as though you had given me a soul ! You 
have quickened the dormant soul that was in me, 
given it eyes, ears, perceptions, sympathies. At 
last I am alive, tingling and throbbing to my finger 
tips with life, with warm, buoyant, intense, eager 
life. My existence now is a constant exaltation, 
a constant inspiration. Whatever my eye looks 
upon, whatever my ear hears, whatever my fingers 
touch, means something, says something to me, and 
wakes a response in my own heart. I think, feel, 
see, and consequently paint, with a zest, an impetus, 
a power, and yet a serenity, a repose, of which 
I never even had a conception in the old days, 
Christine ! Oh, my love ! . . When I look at 

you, Christine, and realize that you are my betrothed 
— that you love me, and that you have promised to 
be my wife ; and when I take your little hand in 
mine, and stroke it, and feel its wondrous warmth 
and softness, and bring it to my lips, and breathe 
that most delicate fragrance which ever clings to it ; 


THE YOKE OF THE THOR AH. 91 

and when I gaze into the luminous depths of your 
eyes, and behold your spirit burning far, far 
down in them : oh ! my blood seems to catch 
fire ; each breath is like a draught of some 
magic, intoxicating vapor ; I come near to faint- 
ing, for the great joy that fills my heart — fills 
it, and thrills it. I dare say all men who love, 
and are loved in return, are happy. But none can 
be so supremely happy as I am, so miraculously 
happy ; because no one else loves you, and is 
loved by you. And other women are no more like 
you than — than dust is like fire, than glass is like 
diamond, than water is like wine. You mustn’t 
laugh at me for saying this. It is really, honestly 
true. They resemble you in outward form, of 
course ; they, too, have hands and feet, shaped more 
or less upon the same pattern that yours are shaped 
upon. But you — you have something — some- 
thing which lean not name or describe — some- 
thing subtle, impalpable, and yet unmistakable — 
something supersensual, celestial — which makes 
you as different from them as — it is a grotesque 
comparison, but it will show you what I mean — as 
a magnet is different from common iron. It is a 
difference of quality, which I can not find any words 
exactly to define. I suppose really that it is simply 
your soul — that you have a purer, finer soul than 
other women. Whatever it is, I recognized it, and 
felt it, with a thick thrill, as one feels an electric 
spark, the first time I ever saw you — reflected in 
that old, time-stained looking-glass, between the 


9 ^ ■ the yoke of the thorah, 

windows in your father’s shop. I recognize and 
feel it perpetually, everywhere I go. All the 
other women that I see have about them a touch of 
the earth, from which you are free ; and they lack 

that touch of heaven, which you have 

Why, from among the millions of men upon this 
planet, why should I have been the one chosen to 
enjoy this unique rapture ? What have I done to 
deserve that the single peerless and perfect lady 
should be mine ? It is incomprehensible. In a 
world built up of marvels, it is the prime, the crown- 
ing, the over-topping marvel. It would be incredi- 
ble, were it not indubitably true. But sometimes, 
true though I know it to be, I become so acutely 
conscious of the wonder and incomprehensibility of 
it, that I doubt it in spite of myself. Then I think : 
may be, after all, it is a dream. At such moments, I 
hasten to see you, to verify it. I can not reach you 
quickly enough. At what a snail’s pace the horse- 
car drags along ! How endless are the intervals 
when it stops, to take in or to let off a passenger ! 
I count the seconds, I count the inches. All the 
while, my soul is trembling within me ; nor does it 
cease to tremble, till I have crossed your threshold, 
and beheld you with my eyes, and touched you with 
my hands, and thus, so far as seeing and feeling are 
believing, convinced myself that you really exist, and 
that my great happiness is not a phantasm — unless 
indeed, my whole life is one long phantasm, one con- 
tinuous dream, which sometimes I think may be the 
explanation of it. This great, vast happiness ! It 


THE YOKE OF THE THORAH. 


93 


would be ungrateful and irreverent to suppose that 
it has fallen to my lot by mere chance or accident ; 
and yet I can not understand why God should 
have so favored me above all other living men ; why 
He should have selected me to receive the greatest 
blessing that He had .to bestow — your love, my 
queen ! ” 

And in a letter written by her to him, she says : 
“ What if we had never known each other ? That 
would have been very possible, wouldn’t it ? The 
world is so large, and there are so many, many 
people, and the likelihood of any two happening to 
come together is so very slight, it would have been 
quite possible for us to have gone through life, 
and died, without ever having known each other. 
Think of the many years that we did dwell right 
here in the same city, without ever even knowing 
of each other’s existence ! And yet often, perhaps, 
in the course of those years, we came very near 
together. Who can tell but that we may have sat 
together in the same concert-hall, listening to the 
same music ? We may have passed each other in 
the street a great many times. We may even have 
ridden in the same horse-car together, and not have 
noticed each other. Isn't it strange ? But think, 
if I had not happened to go to my father’s shop 
that afternoon ! Or, if you had not happened to 
go there, too, at just the same time ! Why, then 
we might never have known each other at all ! It 
takes my breath away, to think of it ; doesn’t it 
yours ? How strange and empty and incomplete 


94 


THE YOKE OF THE THORAH. 


our lives would have been ? We should have gone 
through life, without ever really knowing what life 
meant — without ever realizing the greatness and 
the richness and the wonder of it. I should never 
have known what it was to love — for I never could 
have loved any one but you. Oh, how lonesome I 
should have been ! But you — do you think you 
might have loved somebody else, and married her ? 
There are so many women ; but there is only one 

you. Oh, if I could only feel sure that you 

would always, always love me, and never get over 
loving me ! Whenever you are away from me, I 
can’t help being afraid that you do not love me any 
more. I long so impatiently to have you come 
back and tell me that you do. If you ever really 
should get over loving me — oh, I — I would rather 
have you kill me right away.” 

Thus these young persons pursued their billing 
and cooing. Thus they played their parts in the 
oldest of old plays, never for an instant suspecting 
that the same songs had been sung, the same lines 
declaimed, the same little scenes enacted, the whole 
worn threadbare, by myriads of similar personages, 
ever since the world began ; and scarcely giving a 
thought, either, to the time when, by and by, the 
curtain would be rung down, and the theater 
emptied, and the foot-lights put out. So short- 
sighted, so self-absorbed, is love. The two letters 
from which I have just quoted, lie before me now. 
It is not such a great while since they were written 
— not such a great while since the paper grew hot 


THE YOKE OF THE THOR AH. 


95 


Under the writer’s hand, and fluttered as the reader’s 
breath fell upon it. But the paper is quite cold 
now ; and already the ink has begun to fade. 
Yet, to Christine's pages there still clings, sin- 
gularly enough, the ghost of a faint, sweet 
smell. 

Numberless were the delightful hours that Elias 
spent painting at her portrait ; and long before the 
spring came he had it finished. Of course, he was 
not satisfied with it. Of course, he found it tame 
and poor when compared to the original. But 
what true artist ever is satisfied with his own handi- 
work ? What true lover but always will find tame 
and poor a portrait of his mistress ? He made, 
besides, a great many pencil and water-color draw- 
ings of her. He never tired of striving to transfix 
something of her exquisite beauty upon the pages 
of his sketch-book. The effort was always a 
pleasure. The result was always a disappointment. 
He did not, however, by any means, confine these 
experiments to his sketch-book. All the blank 
paper that passed his way, ran an imminent risk of 
being seized upon, and made to bear an attempt at 
her likeness. I have on my desk that volume of 
Rossetti’s poems, from which, on a memorable 
Sunday morning, Elias read aloud “ The Blessed 
Damozel.” Scattered over the fly-leaves and the 
margins of the pages, I have counted no fewer than 
sixty-nine pencil studies of Christine’s face, in 
various stages of completion. Beneath one of these 
is written in Elias’s hand, ‘‘ Oh, what a wonder of 


96 THE YOKE OF THE THORAH, 

a woman ! ” and immediately following, in Chris- 
tine’s, “ Oh, what a goose ! ” 

Often, if the sun shone, they would take long 
walks in Central Park ; and Christine kept her 
promise to show him some of those nooks and 
corners which she had preempted, and which no- 
body else knew the existence of. One of these 
speedily became a favorite resort of theirs. It was 
a high rock, the top of which was carpeted with 
many generations of pine needles, and screened 
from the vulgar gaze by a girdle of pine trees. 
Here, when the weather was warm enough, they 
would stop to rest for a little after their jaunts ; 
and here, though he never suspected it, the final 
chapter of Elias Bacharach’s story was destined to 
be acted out. The pine trees are still standing and 
flourishing : but they are inscrutable, and bear no 
record, breathe no hint, of the tender passages be- 
tween these lovers, at which they were wont to assist. 

Often, in the midst of his work in his studio, 
Elias would be seized by a sudden and uncon- 
trollable desire to pay his sweetheart a visit ; and 
would fling aside his brushes, discharge his model, 
hurry up-town, and ring her door-bell. Of course, 
unapprised of his coming, she would not always be 
at home ; but if the maid could inform him whither 
she had gone, he would be sure to follow ; and on 
more than one occasion he caught a fine cold, 
standing in the wind-swept ’ street, watching the 
door of the house where he knew that she was call- 
ings and waiting to join her at her exit, 


THE YOKE OF THE THORAH. 


97 


Christmas came, and New Year’s Day, and her 
birthday, and his. They celebrated all of these 
festivals in company. For New Year’s Eve, one of 
Christine’s Normal College classmates had invited 
her to a party. Elias naturally was her cavalier. 
He suffered torments indescribable, as she whirled 
through the waltz on the arm of another man — he 
could not dance, himself ; had never learned how, 
poor fellow — but when, from the corner in which 
he was sulking alone, he saw that the heel of her 
slipper had broken off, and that her partner was 
holding that heel in his hand, and inspecting it 
with curious eyes, he could no longer contain him- 
self. Another man to profane with his touch the 
heel of Christine’s slipper ! He advanced upon the 
couple, scowling savagely ; and addressing the 
young man : “ Give me that,” he commanded 
gruffly. He got hold of it, and stuck it into his 
pocket. Christine shot dagger-glances at him. 
On their way home, in the carriage, she scolded 
him roundly for his jealousy and his bad manners ; 
but before they separated, she had forgiven him ; 
and the padded carriage walls had witnessed a very 
pretty reconciliation. That night he sat up till 
daybreak, writing her a letter, very penitent, very 
affectionate, very voluminous. That we should 
have begun the New Year with a quarrel ! ” was its 
remorseful burden. At eight o’clock he dispatched 
it by a messenger. Yet he knew that at ten o’clock 
that very forenoon she would be ready to re- 
ceive him in 'proper person. But ten o’clock ! 


98 


THE YOKE OF THE THORAH. 


Two mortal hours ! It seemed years and years 
away. 

Time moved steadily forward. The winter 
passed. March came, an exceptionally mild, sun- 
shiny March, much of which was spent among the 
pine trees in the park ; then April. Their wed- 
ding-day was definitely fixed for the second of May. 
On the third, they were to set sail by the French 
steamship for Havre. Their tickets were bought, 
their plans were all made. The services of the 
clergyman who was to tie the knot, had been 
secured. And yet, in all these months, not a 
whisper of his engagement had Elias breathed 
to his uncle, the Rabbi Felix. From day to 
day, from week to week, he had put off the in- 
evitable moment. He knew that nothing which 
the rabbi could say or do, would have the slightest 
effect upon him, so far as shaking his resolution 
was concerned ; but he supposed that there would 
be a scene, and a very stormy and disagreeable one, 
and he dreaded it ; and so he had procrastinated — 
or, as he phrased it, had waited for a favorable 
opportunity. He had gone on living in the same 
house, eating at the same board, with this old man, 
his uncle ; chatting with him, even, as a precaution 
against possible suspicions, saying his prayers and 
reading his Bible with him, and all the while keeping 
the one dominant fact of his life shut close in from 
sight. Sometimes the secret weighed very heavily 
upon his mind, pressed hard for utterance, got even 
so far as the tip of his tongue. But then, asking 


THE YOKE OF THE THORAH. 


99 


himself, “ What good — what but bad — could come 
of my telling him ? ” he would decide to wait for yet 
another while. Perhaps the rabbi, on his side, had 
noticed that Elias was absent from home a good 
deal ; but, considering his youth, and that his home 
was such a dull, unattractive place, what wonder ? 
What else could be expected ? I must not forget to 
state that some rumors to the effect that Elias Bach- 
arach intended to get married, were circulating in 
the Jewish world — which is, of all worlds, the one 
most prone to gossip — but these failed to specify 
the lady’s name, and took for granted that she was 
a Jewess ; and the rabbi was far too much of a 
recluse to be reached by them, any how. 

With the Redwoods Elias had been perfectly 
frank. He had said to the old man : ‘‘ I suppose 
you will think that the only relative I have in this 
quarter of the world — my uncle. Dr. Gedaza — ought 
to call upon you ; and I suppose you’ll think it very 
singular if he doesn’t. But I had better tell you 
candidly that he will strongly disapprove of my 
marriage, simply and solely on the ridiculous ground 
that Christine happens not to have been born a 
Jewess. I hope you won’t let this have the slightest 
influence whatever upon you ; because I’m a man, 
of full age and sound mind, master of my own purse 
and person, and he’s only my uncle ; and, with 
all due respect, I can’t see that my marriage is 
any of his business.” In the end, both Christine 
and her father had accepted Elias’s view of the 
case. 


100 


THE YOKE OF THE THORAH, 


Time moved steadily forward, and now it was the 
night of Tuesday, the first of May, and to-morrow 
Elias’s happiness would be sealed and consum- 
mated. He and Christine had spent a very ecstatic 
evening with each other ; but, of course, by and by 
it behooved him to take his leave ; and so, toward 
eleven o’clock, he rose and began the process. 
About midway in it, however, he broke off and said 
abruptly : “ Oh, by the by, I forgot to tell you 
something.” 

Ah ? ” she queried. “ What ? ” 

An idea I had.” 

An idea ? ” 

“ Yes ; about — about breaking the news to my 
uncle.” 

“ News ? What news ? ” 

^‘Why, the news — the news of our marriage.” 

“ Why ! ” she exclaimed, with an expression of 
very serious surprise. “ Do you mean to say that — 
that you haven’t done that yet ? ” 

“ No ; not yet. That’s just the point. You 
see — ” 

“ Oh, Elias,” she interrupted, in a tone of em- 
phatic rebuke, I supposed, of course, you had told 
him long ago. You ought to have told him. That 
wasn’t right.” 

“ What difference does it make ? I have waited 
about it, because it would only have raised trouble 
between him and me, without doing a particle of 
good to either. There’s no end to the bother and 
complications it would have caused. He lives in 


THE YOKE OF THE THORAH. 


loi 


my house, you know ; and if we had had a row, he 
would have felt obliged to clear out, and all that. 
So I kept my own counsel ; and I'm very glad I 
did. For now my idea is to say nothing to him at 
all ; but after we’re safely aboard-ship, and started 
for the other side. I’ll send him a letter by the pilot. 
That will spare both of us a very painful and unprof- 
itable interview.” 

“ Oh, but it’s not fair, it’s not honorable, it’s not 
respectful. He’s your uncle — your own mother’s 
brother — and you owe it to him not to do that — 
not to go and get married without even letting him 
know. You ought to have told him long ago. It 
will hurt his feelings awfully, when he finds out 
how long you have kept it from him — when he finds 
that you have waited till the very eleventh hour. 
Now you must tell him right straight away — as 
soon as you possibly can — to-night, as soon as you 
reach home. Promise me that you will.” 

“ But, Christine — ” 

**No, no, no! Unless you want to make me 
very unhappy, you’ll promise to tell him right away. 
That letter by the pilot ! I don’t understand how 
you could have thought of such a thing ! It would 
be cruel and — and it would be cowardly ! There 1 ” 

Elias tried to argue the matter. But Christine 
put her foot down, and vowed, with a look of in- 
flexible determination upon her gentle face, that 
she would never, never, forgive him, unless he 
made a clean breast of it to the rabbi that very 
night. 


102 


7^ HE YOKE OF THE THOR AH. 


** But it is late. What if he should have gone to 
bed ? ” he suggested feebly, 

“ Then wake him up.” 

Of course, before they parted, he had pledged 
himself to do exactly as she wished ; and she, paci- 
fied, went off to bed, whether to sleep or to lie 
awake, in either case, we may be sure, to dream of 
the happiness that was ripening for her in the 
womb of time. 

Elias did not enjoy his journey home that night. 
His frame of mind was by no means such as, on 
general principles, one would expect of a man in 
his position — a man who had just said his last fare- 
well to the lady whom he loved, and whom the mor- 
row was to make his bride. His imagination run- 
ning on ahead of his person, entered the rabbi’s 
study, and rehearsed the scene that would there 
shortly have to be enacted in very truth. Elias 
was surprised at the excessive dread he felt. He 
strove to reason it away, repeating to himself, “ He 
can do nothing, absolutely nothing. He can only 
talk ; and talk doesn’t hurt.” But all the same, 
when he arrived in front of his house, and realized 
that the long-deferred moment was actually at 
hand, his heart quaked within him, and a sudden 
perspiration broke out upon his forehead. How- 
ever, there was no help for it. He had promised ^ 
and he was bound to keep his promise. So, draw- 
ing a deep breath, and swallowing his reluctance, 
he opened the rabbi’s study door. 


THE YOKE OF THE THOR AH. 103 


IX. 



HE rabbi sat before his empty fire-place, with 


1 slippered feet upon the hearth, reading to 
himself, in a whisper, from the current number of 
The Jewish Messenger. He raised his eyes absent- 
mindedly upon Elias's face, where they rested for 
an instant, vacant of expression. Then, suddenly, 
they lighted up, but with a light which was mani- 
festly that of alarm. Throwing aside his news- 
paper, and half rising from his chair, “ What — what 
is the matter with you ? " he cried. “ What has 
happened ? ” 

“ Happened ? The matter with me ? " stammered 
Elias, halting. “ What do you mean ? " 

“ Why, boy, you’re as pale as death. You look — 
you look as though you had seen a ghost.” 

Elias forced a laugh, a faint one. 

“ Nonsense,” he said. “ I’m all right. Perhaps 
it’s the shade of your lamp. The light, coming 
through that green, is enough to make any one look 


livid.” 


He sat down opposite the rabbi, and struggled 
hard to appear nonchalant and at his ease, even 
going to the length of lighting a cigarette. He 
must have met with some success ; for presently the 
rabbi, who had not ceased to regard him anxiously, 
observed with an air of relief, “ Yes, I guess it was 
the lamp-shade. Now that you’re seated and out 
of the range of it, you look as usual. But when 


104 THE YOKE OF THE THORAH. 

you first came in, I declare, you gave me quite a 
turn.” With which he picked up his newspaper, 
found his place, and resumed his whispered reading. 

Thus for a few minutes. Then, tossing his half- 
consumed cigarette into the grate, “ I wanted to 
have a little talk with you to-night. Uncle Felix, if 
you don’t mind,” Elias said. 

“ Of course, I don't mind,” the rabbi returned 
kindly, lowering his paper. “ What did you want 
to say ? ” 

“ Something that will surprise you, I suppose. I 
wanted to tell you that I am thinking of — of getting 
married.” 

“ Ah, indeed ! ” cried the rabbi, his face breaking 
into a smile. “ Thinking of getting married ! Well, 
I’m glad, right glad, to hear it. It’s — you’re twenty- 
seven, aren’t you ? — it’s high time.” 

“ So it is,” Elias assented, conscious of a certain 
dismal humor in the situation. 

There befell a silence, during which the rabbi, 
still with a smile upon his lips, seemed to be revolv- 
ing the intelligence in his mind. 

Pretty soon, ‘‘Yes, I admit, it does surprise me,” 
he continued, “ for, to speak the truth, I had set you 
down for a pretty confirmed woman-hater. But, as 
I say, it’s high time. Men wait too long now-a- 
days about getting married. In half the weddings 
that I perform, the bridegrooms are fully thirty-five, 
and many of them are upwards of forty. Now, in 
my time, it was different. We used to recognize 
marriage as a religious obligation — which it is, in 


I THE YOKE OF THE THOR AH. 105 

fact — and to look askance at a man who was still 
single at five-and-twenty. I myself was married at 
twenty-three.” 

He paused for a moment, then asked, “Well, 
have you begun to look around ? ” 

“ To look around ? ” queried Elias, puzzled. 

“ Exactly — for a young lady,” explained the 
rabbi. 

“ Oh ! Why, no. I found her without looking 
around.” 

“ Found her ? You mean, then, that you have 
actually made a choice ? ” 

“ Why, of course. What did you suppose ? ” 

“ Oh, I thought may be you were merely consid- 
ering the subject abstractly — on general principles 
— and had decided that the time had come. But 
you say that you have already chosen the lady. 
Well, I declare, how close-mouthed you have kept ! 

— I suppose now,” he added, “ you want me to open 
negotiations, eh ? ” 

“ Negotiations ? How do you mean ? ” 

“ Why, with her parents, of course. Ask for her , 
hand — declare your sentiments.” 

“ Oh, no ; that isn’t necessary.” 

“ No ? How so ? ” 

“ Why, I’ve done all that for myself. I have 
proposed, and — and been accepted.” 

“ You have ! You don’t say so ! Oh, you sly, 
secretive rascal ! Well, I congratulate you. You 
ought to have stuck to the good, old-fashioned 
custom, and had me make the first advances ; but 


io 6 the yoke of the thorah. 

I congratulate you, all the same. What’s her 
name ? Who is she ? One of our congregation ? 
Tell me all about her.” 

The rabbi sat forward in his chair, curiosity 
incarnate. His pale skin had become slightly 
flushed. His eyes, beaming over the gold bows of 
his spectacles, were fixed intently upon his nephew’s 
face. 

Elias had not enjoyed this beating about the 
bush ; but he had lacked both the courage and the 
tact to put an end to it. Now, however, when its 
end had arrived naturally, in the course of circum- 
stances, he wished that it might have been indef- 
initely prolonged ; so great, so unreasonable, was 
the dread he felt. 

“ Her name,” he began — he looked hard at the 
floor ; and his voice was a trifle unsteady — “ she’s 
a young American lady ; and her name is Redwood 
— Miss Christine Redwood.” 

For an instant the rabbi’s appearance did not 
change. It no doubt needed that instant for his 
mind to appreciate the purport of what his ears had 
heard. But all at once, the flush across his fore- 
head first deepened to a vivid crimson, and then 
faded quite awa^, leaving the skin waxen white, 
with the blue veins distended upon it. A dart of 
light, like an electric spark, shot from his eyes, 
which then filled with an opaque, smoky darkness. 
His lips twitched a little ; his fingers clenched con- 
vulsively. He started backward a few inches into 
his chair. His attitude was that of a man whose 


THE YOKE OF THE THOR AH. I07 

faculties have been scattered and confounded by a 
sudden, tremendous blow. 

But this attitude the rabbi retained for scarcely 
the time it takes to draw a breath. Almost at once 
he seemed to recover himself. His fingers relaxed. 
His face regained its ordinary composure. In a 
low voice, with not a trace of perturbation, coldly, 
even indifferently : 

“ A young American lady ? Miss Christine — ? 
Be kind enough to repeat the name,” he said. 

Elias, continuing to stare hard at the floor, re- 
peated it : Redwood — Miss Christine Redwood.” 

Then, with bowed head and trembling heart, he 
waited for the outbreak which, he supposed, of 
course, would come. He stared at the floor — 
taking vague note of the patch of carpet at his 
feet, remarking how threadbare it was worn, how 
faded its colors were, remarking even how, at a 
certain point, a bent pin stuck upward from it — 

stared at the floor, and waited. But the rabbi 

spoke no word. The clock on the mantelpiece 
ticked, ticked, ticked ; suddenly, from its interior, 
sounded a quick whir of machinery, and then a single 
clear stroke of its bell — half-after midnight. Next 
instant the clock of St. George’s church, across the 
park, responded with a deep, reverberating boom. 
Elias waited ; and still the rabbi did not speak. 
Such silence was incomprehensible, exaspera- 
ting, ominous. All the more violent, for this 

delay, would the storm be, when it broke, 
Elias thought. He did not dare to look the 


lo8 THE YOKE OF THE THOR AH 

rabbi squarely in the face, to meet his eye ; but he 
stole a glance, swift enough to escape arrest, and 
yet deliberate enough to see that the rabbi was still 
seated, just as before, in his chair ; and then he 
returned to his contemplation of the carpet. Yes, 
the silence was exasperating, even unbearable. 
Why did he not say his say, scold, plead, exhort, 
curse, empty the phials of his wrath, and have done 
with it ? Elias waited till his over-taxed nerves 
could endure the suspense no longer ; when, 
teeth gritted, tone defiant, “ Redwood,” he re- 
peated for a third time. “ Don’t you hear ? ” 

The rabbi vouchsafed no syllable in reply ; but 
his lips curled in a slight, enigmatic smile. 

Again Elias found himself constrained to wait. 
He waited till the silence had again grown insup- 
portable. At length, springing to his feet, “ For 
God's sake,” he cried, “ why — why don’t you 
speak ?” 

“ Speak ? ” echoed the rabbi, with the same in- 
scrutable smile, and a scarcely perceptible shrug of 
the shoulders. “ What is there to say ? ” 

“ Say — say any thing. I don’t care what you 
say,” Elias cried passionately. “ Only, this silence 
— if you want to drive me crazy, keep it up. It 
makes me feel as if — as if my head would burst 
open.” He crushed his hands hard against his 
temples. “ Go on. Speak. Curse me. Any 
thing. Only, don’t sit there that way, as though 
you had been struck dumb.” 

“ Come, come, Elias ! Stop your bellowing. 


THE YOKE OF THE THOR AH. 109 

Stop storming about like that. Sit down — there, 
where you were before. Be quiet. Be rational. 
Then, if you wish, we can talk.” 

Elias dropped into his chair. 

.‘‘I’m quiet. I’m rational,” he groaned. “Go 
ahead.” 

“Well, really,” the rabbi submitted. “I don’t 
see that there is much to be said.” 

“ Not much to be said ! For heaven’s sake ! 
Haven't you heard ? Haven’t you understood ? 
Haven’t I told you that I am going to marry a 
Christian ? ” 

“There’s no need of screaming at me, Elias. 
Yes. I have understood. When — when was it 
your intention that this marriage should take 
place ? ” 

“ To-morrow. It takes place to-morrow evening 
at half past eight o’clock.” 

“ Indeed ? So soon ? Why have you waited so 
long about telling me ? Or, having waited so long, 
why did you tell me at all ? ” 

“ I don’t know. Many reasons. I thought — ” 

“ Oh, well, it doesn’t matter. It makes no dif- 
ference,” the rabbi interrupted, and again relapsed 
into silence. 

“ Well ? ” ventured Elias, interrogatively. 

“ Well, what ? ” returned the rabbi. 

“ Well, why don’t you go on ? Finish what 
you’ve got to say ? ” 

“ I don’t know that I have any thing more to 
say.” 


IIO 


THE YOKE OF THE THORAH. 


Any thing more ! You haven’t said any thing at 
all, as yet.” 

“ Well, then, I don’t know that I have any thing 
at all to say.” 

Good God ! ” Elias broke out furiously. “ You 
— you’ll — what is the matter with you, any how ? I 
tell you that I am going to marry a Christian ; 
and you — you sit there — like — like I don’t know 
what — and answer that you have nothing to say 
about it ! ” 

“ Precisely ; because, indeed, I have nothing to 
say about it — except this, that the marriage will 
never take place. That’s all.” 

“ Never take place ! I give it up. What in 
reason’s name do you mean ? ” 

” I mean what I say.” 

That we — she and I — are — are not going to get 
married, after all ? ” 

« Yes.” 

‘‘But haven’t I told you that our marriage 
comes off to-morrow night ? ” 

“ Yes.” 

“ Well?” 

“ Well, you have told me so ; but you are mis- 
taken.” 

“ Mistaken ! I think you must have gone mad.” 

“ Not in the least. The marriage won’t come off 
to-morrow night, nor any other night.” 

“ I should like to know what’s to prevent it.” 

It will be prevented.” 

“ I don’t just see how.” 


THE YOKE OF THE THORAH. 


Ill 


Wait, and you shall see.” 

“ By whom ? By you, for example ? If so, by 
what means ? ” 

** Oh, no ; not by me.” 

“ By whom, then ? ” 

Elias put this question, smiling defiantly. 

For a moment there was a deep stillness in the 
room, broken only by the ticking of the clock. 
Then the rabbi rose to his feet, advanced close to 
Elias, and stood facing him. With an expression 
of immense dignity upon his white, delicately 
modeled features, quietly, gravely, in a tone of 
serene conviction : “ Elias,” he said, “ by the Lord 
our God, the God of Israel.” 

Elias’s smile died out. He recoiled with a start 
into his chair ; and for an instant all the blood left 
his lips. But then, with an attempt at lightness 
which was somehow very unbecoming, “ Oh, so ? 
You mean, I suppose, that the Lord will strike me 
dead — or afflict me with a paralysis — or something 
of that kind — yes ? ” 

Quite unscathed by his nephew’s irony, slowly, 
seriously, without raising his voice, “ I mean, Elias,” 
the rabbi pursued, “ that you had better beware. 
You expected me — when, at midnight, you burst in 
here, pale with guilt, and made the announcement 
that within twenty-four hours you were going to 
transgress all the laws of our religion, by marrying 
a woman who is not of our race or faith — you 
expected me — didn’t you ? — to reason with you, to 
picture to you the awful consequences that must 
follow upon such a sin, to plead with you in the 


II2 


THE YOKE OF THE THORAH 


name of your dead father and mother, to entreat you, 
to endeavor in every possible way to get you to give 
up your insane, suicidal idea. You expected me, 
as you have said, to curse you ; or, that failing, to 
fall upon my knees, and beseech you. — Well, you 
see — and, to judge from your actions, you see with 
some surprise, even with some disappointment — 
that I do none of these things, that I do nothing of 
the kind. Why ? Because, as I have told you, the 
marriage you speak of will never take place. 
There is not a single chance of its taking place 
— not any more chance of its taking place, than 
there is of the sun’s failing to rise to-morrow 
morning. Neither I, nor any man, need raise a 
finger, need speak a word. The Lord God of 
Israel, Elias Bacharach, has His eye upon you. He 
will prevent this marriage from taking place. And 
all I say to you is — what I said at the beginning — 
look out ! Beware ! ” 

The rabbi had spoken very earnestly, but very 
quietly, and without a touch of excitement. Having 
concluded, he went back to his chair, took off his 
spectacles, wiped their lenses with his handkerchief, 
and unconcernedly replaced them upon the bridge 
of his nose. 

Elias had sat still, nervously twitching his foot, 
and allowing his eyes to roam vacantly about the 
room. Now, for a moment, he kept his peace. 
Then, “You don’t state the grounds for this singu- 
lar and no doubt comforting belief, nor do you 
specify the methods by which the Lord is to accom- 
plish the result. I should like to know, if it is the 


THE YOKE OF THE THORAH, I13 

some to you, just what to expect. Am I, as I 
suggested, to be incapacitated bodily ? By paraly- 
sis ? By death ? Or what ? " 

“ I don't choose to state the grounds of my 
belief, Elias, nor to specify in any respect, nor, 
indeed, to discuss the question at all with you — 
especially when you see fit to adopt that insolent 
and blasphemous tone of voice. I will simply 
repeat— what I hope you will reflect upon, and take 
to heart — that you had best beware. Now I wish 
to be left alone. I shall see you again in the 
morning. Good-night." 

Elias rose. 

“ Well, I’m glad you take the matter so easily, 
Uncle Felix ; and since you practically put me out, 
good-night." 


X. 


S he had done upon a former and slightly simi- 



lar occasion, and as he was wont to do when- 
ever his spirits were in any degree perturbed, Elias 
climbed up-stairs to his studio, and sat down at the 
window. All day long the sun had shone bright 
and hot ; but ever since dusk the sky had been 
clouding over ; and now, plainly, a thunder-storm 
was near at hand. The atmosphere was thick, still, 
tepid. With increasing frequency, shafts of jagged 
lightning tore their way through the clouds, and 
were followed by long, sullen, distant rumblings, as 


1 14 THE YOKE OF THE THOR AH, 

of suppressed fury somewhere. Suddenly a breeze 
sprang up, swelling quickly into a strong wind. 
The air filled with dust. The branches of the trees, 
over in the park, groaned aloud ; and from here 
and there came the noise of banging shutters, and 
of loose things generally being knocked about. The 
flames in the street-lamps below flared violently. 
Some of them went’out. Big drops of lukewarm 
water began to fall, splashing audibly where they 
struck. All at once, a blinding flash, a deafening 
peal of thunder, from right overhead ; and the rain 
came pouring down in torrents. 

Now, of course, Elias Bacharach — he in whose 
soul the man had long since worsted the Jew, and 
reason abolished superstition — of course, Elias 
knew that what his uncle had said about the God 
of Israel interposing to prevent his marriage, was 
the sheerest sort of rubbish. That the old gentle- 
man had spoken in good faith — that he really 
believed in the validity of his own prophecies, and 
had not uttered them merely with a view to working 
upon his hearer’s imagination, and exciting his 
fears — Elias could not doubt ; for to resort to such 
strategy was not, he conceived, in the character of 
the artless and simple-minded rabbi. But that very 
good faith only proved him to be the victim of a 
most preposterous delusion. For himself, Elias had 
no misgivings. As confident as a mortal can be of 
any future event, in this world of uncertainties, so 
confident was he that the morrow evening would 
make of him and Christine man and wife. Of 


THE YOKE OF THE THOR AH. 115 

course, there was always the unforeseen to be allowed 
for ; accidents were always possible. But if he had 
none but supermundane obstacles to dread, then he 
might regard his marriage as already an accom- 
plished fact. And, notwithstanding, Elias felt very 
much disturbed — very much annoyed, mystified, 
and ill-at-ease. All that the rabbi had said was 
stuff and nonsense, at absolute, obvious variance 
with science, with simple common sense — fit 
material for laughter, for a certain contemptuous 
pity ; but, nevertheless, every time that Elias re- 
called just whati\\^ rabbi had said, and the rabbi’s 
manner of saying it, he felt a sharp, inward pang, 
very like terror ; he had to catch a quick, short 
breath ; and he confessed to himself that he would 
give a good deal to be enabled to get inside the 
rabbi’s consciousness, and learn the grounds on 
which he based his extraordinary, but apparently 
secure, conviction, and find out exactly what form 
of divine interference he anticipated. Despite his 
clear perception of the rabbi’s sophistry, he caught 
himself furtively querying : “ Can there be any 
thing in it ? ” Despite his assurance that all 
would go well, he caught himself furtively wishing 
that all was well over, and his marriage-certificate 
signed and sealed. “ There is not a single chance 
of its taking place — not any more chance of its 
taking place than there is of the sun’s failing to 
rise to-morrow morning.” That phrase stuck like 
a thorn in his mind, and produced a considerable 
irritation. 


Ii 6 the yoke of the THOR ah. 

This state of things, besides being intrinsically 
unpleasant, was offensive to Elias’s self-esteem. 
That he, at his age, in his stage of enlightenment, 
should be unsettled by the senseless menaces of a 
superstitious old bigot ! Like a child frightened 
by its nurse’s bugaboo. And yet, there it was 
again, the sharp, internal twinge, so like the sting 
of terror ; and there again he fell to speculating 
upon what the causes of the old man’s singular 
belief could be. 

He sat at his window, peered out into the night, 
and tried to think of something else. He tried to 
think of Christine, tried to call up her image, tried 
to live over again the evening that he had passed 
with her, tried to picture to himself the happiness 
that the coming day held in store. No use. 
“ There is no more chance of its taking place, 
than there is of the sun’s failing to rise to-morrow 
morning.” The rabbi’s voice kept ringing in his 
ears, like a hateful tune that one has heard, and 
can’t get rid of. The painful emotions it awoke, 
kept rankling in his bosom, and crowded out all 
the sweeter ones that sought to enter. He could 
fix his mind permanently upon no subject but the 
rabbi’s irrational predictions. He tried to stir up a 
little interest in the thunder-storm. There it was, 
raging furiously just outside his open window ; 
rain dashing earthward like a loosened flood ; light- 
ning-flash following lightning-flash, and thunder- 
clap thunder-clap, in rapid, tumultuous, terrifying 
succession ; enough, one would fancy, to arrest and 


THE YOKE OF THE THOR AH. 1 17 

to appall the attention of any conscious being, 
human or even brute, within the reach of sight or 
sound ; but Elias's attention it held for a moment 
only. Then his mind sped back to the subject 
which he was most anxious to avoid. “Not a 
single chance — not any more chance than there is 
of the sun’s failing to rise ! ” 

The clock of St. George’s Church struck two. 
What was the rabbi doing now ? Elias wondered. 
Had he gone to bed ? Or was he, perhaps, still 
down stairs in his study ? — praying, perhaps, that 
the Lord would in no wise dishonor His servant’s 
pledges. At this notion, Elias involuntarily 
ground his teeth. “ Praying for mischief ! ” he 
thought. “ And what — what if, after all, there 
should be some efficacy in that sort of prayer ! ” — 
He remembered and rejoiced that he had told the 
rabbi nothing further about Christine than her 
name — neither her father’s name, nor her place of 
abode. Otherwise, the rabbi might have deemed it 
his duty to constitute himself heaven’s instrument, 
and, by intimidating the bride, have caused pain 
and trouble, if not, temporarily at least, have pre- 
vented the wedding from proceeding. In his 
fanaticism, what might he not be capable of doing ? 

The rain, beating upon the window-sill, spattered 
inward, wetting Elias’s clothing. When, by and 
by, he became aware that his coat-sleeve had got 
soaked through, he left his seat, closed the window, 
and lighted the gas. 

His studio — in anticipation of his coming trip to 


Ii8 I'HE YOKE OF THE THOR AH. 

Europe, and subsequent change of residence — he 
had pretty well dismantled, having packed away in 
dark closets and camphor-chests, the most part of 
such goods and chattels as dust or moth can cor- 
rupt. Little, indeed, was left out, save three or 
four chairs, a life-size lay-figure stripped of its 
draperies, an easel or two, and a few time-blackened 
plaster casts fastened to the wall. But over in one 
corner there was heaped up an assortment of mis- 
cellaneous odds and ends, the accumulation of half 
a dozen years, which, now, as his eye noted it, Elias 
remembered, he had meant to overhaul, with a view 
to laying aside whatever he should think worth 
keeping, and consigning the rest to the rag-and- 
bottle man. In the hurry and excitement of the 
past few days, however, he had forgotten all about it. 

For a little while Elias stood still, blinking in the 
new-made gas-light, and gazing rather vacantly at 
this old lumber-pile. Then, suddenly, a gleam as of 
inspiration brightening his features, “ What time,” 
he asked himself, “ could be better than the present ? 
If I go to bed, I shall only toss about, without sleep- 
ing ; whereas, if I do this, it will be an improve- 
ment upon sitting idle, and brooding, any how.” 

With which, straightway, he whipped off his coat, 
drew up a chair, and, not incurious as to what long- 
lost objects he might possibly unearth, started upon 
the forgotten task. 

Paint-rags, besmeared with a thousand colors ; 
torn canvases, bearing half-finished, half-begun,- or 
half-obliterated studies ; paint-tubes, half-emptied, 


THE YOKE OF THE THORAH. 


119 


in which the remaining paint had congealed, or 
“ fatted ” ; worn-out brushes, broken palettes, shat- 
tered maul-sticks, fragments of old casts and orna- 
ments in plaster or terra-cotta ; letters without 
envelopes, envelopes without letters ; newspapers, 
pamphlets, exhibition catalogues, magazines, cir- 
culars, tailor’s bills, cracked bottles, cigarette- 
stumps, cast-off gloves, pocket handkerchiefs, 
cravats ; all sheeted over with fine, black dust, and 
all exhaling a musty, oily odor ; these were the ele- 
ments that predominated, and most of these Elias 
tossed pell-mell to the middle of the floor, for the 
maid to carry away in the morning. To divert one’s 
thoughts from some persistent and exasperating 
topic, it is a commonplace, there is nothing like busy- 
ing one’s fingers ; manual exercise being the surest 
means to the end of mental rest. Pretty soon Elias’s 
late encounter with his uncle had sunken out of 
ixiind — only occasionally, for brief intervals, to 
struggle up, and agitate the surface — and agreeably 
interested in his present occupation, he was whis- 
tling softly to himself, indifferent alike to the 
perspiration that bathed his forehead, to the dust 
that penetrated his nostrils, and to the dirt that 
took lodgment upon his hands. 

Meanwhile, the thunder and lightning had ceased, 
and the rain had settled into a steady drizzle. 

Elias’s first notable find was a pretty little gold 
lead-pencil, one, he recognized, that had been sent 
him, as a present, on his twenty-first birthday, by 
an aunt of his — his father’s only sister — who lived 


120 


THE YOKE OF THE THORAH. 


in New Orleans, and whom he had never seen. It 
had got lost, in a most inexplicable manner, very 
soon after its reception ; and, conscience-smitten, 
Elias now recollected how he had suspected, to the 
degree of moral certainty, a poor devil of an Italian 
model of having stolen it. Well, here it was, intact ; 
and so, poor Archimede had been innocent, after all. 

Holding it in his hand, and examining it a little, 
before putting it into his pocket, and going on with 
his work, Elias felt himself suddenly carried back- 
ward, for an instant, to the period with which it 
was associated. Talismanic pencil, that had power 
to raise the dead, and annihilate the intervening 
years ! There it lay, in shape, weight, color, in 
length, breadth, thickness, in all its attributes and 
dimensions, precisely the same as on that far-off 
birthday morning, when his mother, to whose care 
his aunt had entrusted it, delivered it to him, neatly 
boxed up in pasteboard, wrapped in tissue-paper, 
and sealed with red sealing-wax. How well he 
remembered ! It might have been last week. It 
might almost have been yesterday. And yet, how 
much, indeed how much, had happened since. At 
the breakfast-table, she had said, Here, Elias, 
here is something your Aunt Rachel has sent you 
— something that you will prize especially, because 
she is not at all rich, and has doubtless had to 
pinch and deny herself, in order to buy it.” Then 
she offered him the parcel, which he, touched, sur- 
prised, expectant, took and opened, finding within 
this same little pencil ; and not it only, but wound 


THE YOKE OF THE THOR AH. 12I 

around it, a bit of writing in his Aunt Rachel’s 
hand — the traditional Hebrew bensch : “ May the 
Lord make you to be great, like Ephraim and 
Manasseh ! ” And immediately, of course, in his 
boyish enthusiasm, he had set himself down, and 
put the pencil to its virgin use, by inditing with it 
a glowing note of thanks — about the only use he 
ever had put it to, for very soon afterward it dis- 
appeared. And then, the rest, the rest of that won- 
derful, never-to-be-forgotten day! The pride and the 
triumph of it ! The masterpiece of a dinner that 
his mother had prepared. The check for a daz- 
zling sum of money, that he had found adroitly 
folded in with his napkin ! The toothsome nut- 
cake, with its twenty-one symbolic candles ! The 
wine that had been drunken to his health ! The 
speech that the rabbi had made, standing up at the 
head of the table, and haranguing away as though 
he had had an audience of a thousand, instead of 
only Elias and his mother — the mother, however, 
listening amid tears and smiles, and applauding 
and nodding her head, as the splendid achieve- 
ments which the future was to behold at the hands 
of her son, were prophetically described. The 
watch the rabbi had given him ! — the same that was 
ticking in his waistcoat-pocket at this very instant. 
And the prayer that the rabbi had chanted ! And 
how Elias himself, with swelling heart, had joined 
in the invocation : “ Holy, holy Lord, Thou Who 
art one God ! ” and had vowed silently that, by 
the Lord’s help, he would ‘‘ strive to become good 


12<2 


THE YOKE OF THE THORAH. 


in the sight of men, and a pride unto his people.” 
How well he remembered, thanks to this little pen- 
cil, precisely the same now as then, quite un- 
changed. But oh, what a changed Elias, he in 
whose palm it lay ! How all the conditions of his 
life, and all his interests and purposes in life, and 
all his convictions about life, had changed since 
then ! How little he had dreamed in those days 
of what was coming ! Strange, that he should have 
had no premonition of it. Strange, that he should 
have gone on in peace and contentment, treading 
his level path, forward, forward, unsuspectingly, 
and never have caught a glimpse, never have got 
an inkling, of what was waiting for him, of what 
each step was bringing him so much the nearer to, 
of what presently was to burst upon him in a glory 
like that of heaven, and utterly revolutionize him- 
self and all his world. Strange, indeed ! And yet, in 
those old, simple, tranquil days, he had been happy, 
very happy, in a simple, tranquil way ; and now, as he 
looked back at them, they shone suffused in a rose- 
colored enchantment ; and he could feel his heart 
reach out toward them, with a strong longing 
affection, which, though melancholy, was not un- 
mixed with sweetness. 

Deep, engrossing, and of long duration, was the 
train of associations that had thus been started. 
The church clock across the park rang the half 
hour, before Elias finally roused himself, and 
renewed his attack upon the lumber heap. 

For a good while he struck nothing more of 


THE YOKE OF THE THORAH, 


123 


interest — nothing that he cared to save, or even to 
look at twice. But by and by he fished out a 
sketch-book, which, to judge from the dilapidated 
state of its binding, must have been pretty old, and 
over which he paused, beating it against the floor, 
to rid it of some of its dust, and then opening it, 
to inspect its contents. On the fly-leaf he found 
his initials, “ E. B.,” and a date, “ January, 1876.” 
Listlessly turning the pages, he was somewhat 
amused, and a good deal ashamed, to perceive how 
poor and crude the drawings were — heads, for the 
most part, with only here and there a full-length 
figure ; and he congratulated himself not a little 
that he had thus chanced to run across it, because 
now he could destroy it, and so make sure that 
nobody else should ever have the satisfaction of 
seeing what wretched stuff he had once been ca- 
pable of perpetrating. He supposed that the 
sketches had nearly all been intended as portraits, 
but in the main he could not place them — could 
not remember the persons who had served as 
models. One face kept repeating itself ; there 
were as many as a dozen separate studies of it ; the 
face of a young man, aged, presumably, nineteen or 
twenty years ; strangely familiar ; the face of some 
one, beyond doubt, whom he must have known in- 
timately ; and yet, knitting his brows, and exerting 
his memory to the utmost, he was quite unable to 
recall the original. Odd ; and intensely annoying, 
as baffled memory is apt to be ; until, of a sudden, 
with a thrill of recognition that was by no means 


124 


THE YOKE OF THE THORAH 


agreeable, he identified it as himself. A few pages 
further along, again with a sudden thrill, but this 
time with a far stronger and deeper one, he came 
upon a portrait of his mother. It was badly drawn, 
finical, over-elaborated ; the draperies rigid as 
iron ; the flesh wooden ; the pose — she was seated, 
reading — awkward, and anatomically impossible ; 
and yet, spite of all, it was an excellent, even a 
startling, likeness ; and -happening upon it in this 
unexpected manner, Elias felt a not unnatural 
heart-leap and quickening of the pulse. When, or 
under what circumstances, he had made it, he could 
not think. He bent forward in his chair, gazed 
intently at it, and tried hard to recollect. If the 
date on the fly-leaf was trustworthy, it must, of 
course, have been after the first of January, 1876 ; 
but in his own memory, ransack it as he might, he 
could find no record. This struck him as exceed- 
ingly singular ; because, he believed, he had been 
careful to preserve all the sketches of his mother 
that he had ever taken, even the most primitive and 
rudimentary ; and how this one could not only have 
got mislaid, but entirely have escaped his mind, 
besides, he was at a complete loss to understand. So 
bending forward, and gazing intently at it, he tried 
his best to recollect. 

Of what now befell, or seemed to befall, I shall give 
an account written some two years later by Elias 
himself, in a letter to Christine : 

“ Gradually — as is apt to happen, if you fix your 
eyes for any length of time upon a single spot in 


THE YOKE OF THE THOR AH. 


125 


some small object — gradually the picture blurred, 
becoming simply a formless smudge upon the 
white surface of the paper ; a lapse on the part 
of my eyesight, which I, absorbed in the effort I 
was making to remember, did not attempt to cor- 
rect, but which in due time, as was natural, cor- 
rected itself ; and again the picture stood out 
as distinct as before. Now, however, at once, 
every other thought and every other feeling were 
swept away, clean out of my head, by a sensation 
— I shall not be able to define it ; you will easily 
conceive it ; a sensation half of amazement, half 
of terror ; for, without having changed in size, the 
face seemed to have changed totally in quality ; it 
seemed to have ceased to be a face drawn with 
black lead upon paper, and to have become a face 
in veritable flesh and blood. The hair had appar- 
ently become hair. There was color in the cheeks. 
And the eyes were liquid, living eyes. They — the 
eyes — were what most affected me. Large, black, 
mournful, as her eyes had been in life, they looked 
into my eyes with an expression — I can’t describe 
it. It was what you would call an expression of 
intense agony, and of appeal ; as though it were an 
agony of my causing, and one that she appealed to 
me to relieve. The lips — bluish white, as her lips 
were, toward the end of her life — the lips seemed 
to move, and kept moving, as if trying to speak, 
but unable to ; until at last they succeeded ; and I 
could have vowed that I heard, in her own recog- 
nizable voice, just a little above a whisper, these 


126 


THE YOKE OF THE THORAH. 

words : ‘ There is no more chance of its taking 
place than there is of the sun’s failing to rise. Be- 
ware ! ’ — the words that my uncle had spoken down 
stairs. I was so much startled, so much terrified, 
that I jumped up from my chair. Thereat, instantly, 
the illusion ended. Again it was only a crude pen- 
cil drawing upon the page of my sketch-book. I 
can’t tell how long it had lasted. Very likely not 
longer than two or three seconds, though it seemed 
at least as many minutes. I don’t think I had 
breathed once. I don’t think my heart had given 
a single beat. It had literally paralyzed me with 
fear. 

‘‘ But now that it was over, I fell back upon my 
chair, and my heart began to pound like a hammer 
against my side ; and I sat there, panting and per- 
spiring, like a man exhausted by some tremendous 
physical exertion. I felt sick and dizzy, and had 
a racking headache. — Of course, it was a mere op- 
tical delusion ; a mere hallucination ; not an actual, 
objective phenomenon, not 3. ghost; a mere projec- 
tion from my own imagination. A long time after- 
ward I talked with a physician about it. The sub- 
stance of what he said was this : Consider the 
steadily increasing excitement under which my 
mind had been laboring for many days, in view of 
our approaching marriage ; consider the interview 
that I had had with my uncle, only an hour or two 
earlier, and the high pitch of agitation to which it 
had wrought me up ; consider that it was long past 
my customary bedtime, and that my brain was irri- 


THE YOKE OF THE THOR AH. 127 

tated by lack of sleep, for I had not slept much of 
any the night before ; consider that my mother was 
just then the one person uppermost in my thoughts, 
having been vividly recalled to me first by the pen- 
cil 1 had found, and then by the drawing that I was 
looking at ; consider finally that my bodily posture 
— bending over till my chest nearly touched my 
knees — was such as to keep the blood pent up in 
my head ; and the occurrence becomes very easily 
explicable, especially so, as such hallucinations, 
when people are excited, are not uncommon ex- 
periences. This is what the medical man said. It 
is undoubtedly true ; and something like it I had 
wit enough to tell myself immediately, at the time. 
But telling did no good. It is one thing to satisfy 
your judgment ; another to tranquilize your feel- 
ings and hush your imagination. They choose to 
accept the direct testimony of your eyes and ears, 
rather than the deductions of your common sense. 

I knew, as I have said, that my nerves had simply 
played me a trick ; but that knowledge did not 
prevent me from passing a most wretched, uncom- 
fortable night — the rest of that night, till day-break. 
The memory of the thing persisted in haunting 
me, in spite of the efforts I made to forget it. 
Strive as I might, I could not shake off the fear, 
the uneasiness, that it had inspired. Thinking of 
it, even at this distance, I still wince a little. It 
produced a very deep impression, and must have 
been, I believe, in large part accountable for, as it 
was of a piece with, what happened next day— or, 


128 


THE YOKE OF THE THORAH. 


rather, the evening of the same day, for it was 
now early morning.” 


XI. 

E lias speaks of “ day-break ” ; but it can not 
accurately be said that the day broke at all 
that morning. The blackness of the night slowly 
faded into a dismal, lifeless drab. It rained. The 
wind blew from the north-east. Under it, the 
branches of the trees, across in the park, swayed 
strenuously to and fro. The sparrows, with sadly 
bedraggled plumage, huddled together upon the 
window-sills, and raised their voices in noisy dis- 
putation, as if thereby seeking to screw their 
courage up, and not mind the*sorry weather. The 
milkman's wagon came rattling down the street. 
The milkman wore a rubber overcoat. His war- 
whoop sounded less spirited, less defiant, than its 
wont. 

By and by Elias looked at his watch. It was 
getting along toward seven o’clock. 

Just then somebody rapped upon his studio door. 
Elias’s nerves must indeed have been in a bad way. 
He started, paled, trembled, recovered himself, and 
called out, “ Come in.” 

It was the rabbi. 

“ Good morning, Elias,” the rabbi said. 

“ Good morning,” responded Elias, with a none 
too hospitable inflection. 


THE YOKE OF THE THORAH 129 

So, you haven’t been abed ? You’ve been sit- 
ting up all night ? ” the rabbi questioned. 

“ How do you know that } ” was Elias’s counter- 
question. 

“ I looked for you in your bedroom, and saw 
that your bed had not been slept in.” 

^‘Oh.” 

After a pause, “ What have you been doing, up 
alone all night ? ” the rabbi asked. 

“ Lots of things. A man on the eve of his mar- 
riage has plenty to do.” 

The rabbi stood still for a little while, glancing 
around the room. Then he sat down. At which, 
Elias rose. 

“ If you’ll excuse me,” he said, “ I’ll go down 
stairs. I haven’t taken my bath yet.” 

Have you said your prayers yet ? ” inquired the 
rabbi. 

But Elias was already beyond ear-shot in the 
hall. 

When, perhaps a quarter hour later, Elias, 
emerging from his bath, entered his bedroom, 
he discovered the rabbi established there at the 
window. 

Wheeling about, and facing his nephew, “You 
didn’t answer my question,” the rabbi said. 

“ What question ? ” 

“ I asked whether you had said your prayers this 
morning.” 

“ Oh.” 

“ Well, have you ? ” 


130 


THE YOKE OF THE THORAH. 


“ No.” 

“ Perhaps lately you have got out of the habit of 
saying your prayers — yes ? ” 

Elias made no reply. He appeared not to have 
heard. He was busy fastening the buttons into a 
shirt-bosom. 

“I'll wait till you’ve finished dressing,” said the 
rabbi. 

He went to the window, and stood looking out. 

The rabbi’s presence troubled Elias exceedingly. 
But, he thought, considering every thing, the least 
he could do would be to put up with it as graciously 
as possible and not grumble. “ What do you want 
with me, any how ? ” it was his impulse to demand. 
But he held his tongue, and proceeded with his 
toilet. 

When at last he had tied his cravat and buttoned 
his coat, “ Are you ready now to come down stairs 
with me?” the rabbi began. 

“ What for ? ” 

“Several things. Are you ready? Will you 
come ? ” 

' “ Oh, I suppose so,” Elias answered, and fol- 
lowed the old man from the room. 

To himself : “ I don’t care what he does or says. 
It may be annoying, but it can’t do any serious 
harm. To-day is the last day ; and I’ll let him 
him have his own way in every thing, no matter 
how absurd and exasperating it may be. I’ll keep 
my temper and treat him respectfully, no matter 
how hard he may try me.” 


THE YOKE OF THE THOR AH 13 1 

They had reached the front hall of the house. 
The rabbi put his hand upon the knob of the front 
parlor door. 

‘‘Oh," Elias exclaimed, drawing back, “are you 
going in there ? " 

“Yes." 

Calling to mind his resolution, Elias gulped down 
his unwillingness, and said, “ Oh, well ; all right." 
But it cost him an effort to do so. 

Even during his mother’s life-time, the front 
parlor had been but very seldom used. Since her 
death, it had not been used at all. Indeed, since 
the day of her funeral, now nearly three years gone 
by, Elias had not crossed its threshold. The blinds 
and windows were kept permanently closed, save 
when, once a week, the servants entered to sweep 
and dust. 

Now the rabbi pushed open the door, and, step- 
ping aside, signalled Elias to pass in. Elias obeyed. 
The rabbi followed. 

It was dark inside. Only a few pallid rays of 
daylight leaked through at the edges of the cur- 
tains. The air was cold and at the same time 
oppressive — laden with that stuffy, musty odor, 
which always pervades an uninhabited, shut-up 
room. At first, Elias could scarcely see an arm’s- 
length before his face ; but, as his eyesight grad- 
ually accustomed itself to the obscurity, he was 
able to make out the forms of the furniture, and to 
discern upon the walls sundry large black patches 
which he knew to be pictures. 


132 THE YOKE OF THE THOR AH 

The rabbi struck a match. 

‘‘ Take it," he said to Elias, ‘‘and light the gas ; 
I’m not tall enough." 

Elias did as he was bidden. 

The gas-burner, from disuse, had got clogged 
with dust. It shot a long, slim tongue of flame up 
into the air, and gave off a shrill, continuous whis- 
tle. Every now and then the flame had a convul- 
sion, the whistle dropped a note or two ; then both 
returned to their original conditions. 

For a New York dwelling-house, it was a spa- 
cious room, this parlor ; say, in width twenty feet, 
by forty in depth. The chairs and sofas, scrupu- 
lously wrapped in linen, were ranged along the 
walls. Over the carpet, completely covering it, 
stretched a broad sheet of grayish crash. The 
piano wore a rubber jacket, and had its legs 
swathed in newspapers. The books in the book- 
cases — books of the decorative, rather than of the 
readable order, for the most part — were locked up 
behind glass doors. The tall mirror, between the 
windows, shone through a veil of pink musquito- 
netting. Supplies of the same material had been 
stretched across all the pictures. 

In front of one of these pictures — that which 
hung above the mantel-piece — the rabbi now 
paused, and, raising his arm, pointed to it, in 
silence. 

It was the portrait of a gentleman, full length, 
life-size, done in oils. The gentleman rested one 
hand upon a pile of ponderous, calf-bound volumes 


THE YOKE OF THE THOR AH. 


133 


— law-books, or medical works, they looked like — 
that towered aloft from the floor. In his other 
hand, he held an unrolled scroll of parchment, upon 
which big black Hebrew characters were inscribed. 
Of artistic value the picture had little, or none at 
all ; but it had another sort of value : it was a por- 
trait of Elias’s father. 

The rabbi pointed to it in silence. Elias thought 
the rabbi’s proceeding a little theatrical ; but he 
made no comment. 

By and by the rabbi lowered his arm, and faced 
about. Having done which, he raised his other 
arm, and this time brought his index finger to bear 
upon a portrait of Elias’s mother. 

Theatrical, certainly; disagreeably so, too; Elias 
thought. 

At this point there befell an interruption which 
had somewhat the effect of an anti-climax. The 
breakfast-bell rang. 

“ Well,” said the rabbi, “ let’s go to break- 
fast.” 

Elias turned off the gas. They left the parlor, 
and went down stairs to the dining-room. 

There, having taken their places at the table, the 
rabbi extracted a handkerchief from his pocket, and 
with it covered his' head. Elias did likewise. 
Whereupon the rabbi chanted the usual grace be- 
fore meat. At its conclusion, both he and Elias re- 
placed their handkerchiefs in their pockets, aqd the 
maid-servant brought the coffee. 

For a while neither nephew nor uncle spoke. 


134 


THE YOKE OF THE THORAH. 


At last, “ What are you thinking about, Elias ? ” 
the rabbi asked. 

“ I was thinking, if you wish to know,” Elias an- 
swered, of my great happiness — of the fact that 
to-day the lady whom I love is to become my wife.” 

“ Ah, so ? It doesn’t seem to improve your ap- 
petite,” returned the rabbi. “You’re not eating 
especially well.” 

He made Elias the object of a curious, meditative 
glance ; then pursued : “ Don’t misunderstand me, 
Elias. It isn’t at all my aim to dissuade you from this 
marriage. That, as I told you last night, would be 
a work of supererogation. But I should like to ask 
you just a single question. Suppose your mother 
were still alive, would you entertain for an instant 
the idea of marrying a Christian ? ” 

“ I don’t know ? ” 

“ You don’t know ? ” 

“ Well, probably not.” 

“ Good. That is what I thought. And now, 
let me ask you one question more. Is it your opinion 
that, simply because your mother has died, you are 
absolved from all obligations toward her, and are 
at liberty to act in a way, which, if she were still 
with us, it would break her heart to have you act 
in ? Is that your opinion ? ” 

Elias did not reply. He colored up, however, and 
bit his lip. 

The rabbi waited a moment, then queried, 
“ Well ? ” 

“Well, what?” 


THE YOKE OF THE THOR AH. 135 

** You don’t answer.” 

“ I don’t mean to answer. It isn’t a fair ques- 
tion,” said Elias. 

The rabbi gave a short, contemptuous laugh. 

Again for a while neither of them spoke. Elias 
was uncomfortably conscious that the rabbi’s eyes 
were fixed upon his face. He stood it as long as 
he could. Then, abruptly, he got up. 

“ Please excuse me,” he said, “ I have some- 
thing to do up-stairs.” 

With which he left the room. 

He went to his studio and locked the door be- 
hind him. He had told the rabbi that he had some- 
thing to do. But the truth was that he had noth- 
ing to do, except to kill time as best he could 
until the hour should arrive for him to start for 
Sixty-third Street. He had arranged not to call 
upon Christine at all that day. He thought it would 
be more considerate to leave her alone with her 
father. Now, the day stretched out like an eter- 
nity before his imagination. Would it ever wear 
away? 

It occurred to him that it might not be a bad plan 
to get some sleep, if he could ; so he retired to his 
bedroom, and threw himself all dressed upon his 
bed. 

Pretty soon he heard a rap upon the door. 

“ Who is it ? ” he demanded. 

“ I,” the rabbi’s voice responded. 

“ He’ll end by driving me mad,” thought Elias. 

What do you want ? ” he asked aloud. 


136 THE YOKE OF THE THOFAH. 

“ I want to see you.” 

*‘Well, rmbusy.” 

“ I shan’t interfere with your business.” 

“ I’m going to sleep.” 

I shan’t prevent you from sleeping.” 

Elias said nothing further. The rabbi came in. 

“ I only wanted to sit with you. It is better that 
I should be on hand,” explained the rabbi, and sat 
down near the window. 

Elias closed his eyes and tried hard to sleep. 
But he could not sleep. It is doubtful whether, in 
view of his approaching wedding, he could have 
slept, under the most soothing circumstances. 
Under the actual circumstances, it was like trying to 
sleep while some one is sticking pins into you. 
Elias strove to be philosophical. “ Why should I 
allow his mere presence to irritate me as it does ? ” 
he asked himself. Whatever the correct answer to 
this inquiry may have been, the fact remained that 
the rabbi’s mere presence did irritate him to an ex- 
cessive degree. He bore it for a few minutes si- 
lently. At length, flinging his philosophy over- 
board, he jumped up from his bed, and announced 
vehemently, “ Well, I’m going out.” 

“ Ah,” said the rabbi, quietly, “ I’ll go with you.” 

“Thanks,” replied Elias, “but I prefer to go 
alone.” 

“ I’m sorry,” said the rabbi ; “ but it is my duty.” 

“ What’s your duty ? ' 

“ It is my duty not to let you leave my sight to- 
day.” 


THE YOKE OF THE THOR AH. 137 

At this Elias lost his self-control. 

“ In heaven’s name," he blurted out, “ do — do 
you mean to say that you're going to stick to me 
like this all day ? " 

I should fail in my duty toward you, if I did 
not." 

“ Well then, do you — do you know what you’ll 
do ? " cried Elias, in a loud, infuriated voice. 

“ No ; what ? " questioned the rabbi, composedly. 

“ Good God ! You — you’ll drive me out of my 
senses. You make me feel as though my head 
would split open. You — you — ’’ His voice choked 
in his throat. His face had become burning red. 

‘‘Look out," said the rabbi. “You’ll burst a 
blood-vessel, if you carry on like that." 

“ Well, then, for mercy’s sake, leave me alone. 
Go down stairs about your business. Leave me 
here to attend to mine." 

The rabbi did not speak. He made no move to 
obey. 

“ Don’t you hear ? " Elias cried. 

“Yes." 

“ Well, why don’t you go ? " 

“ I have told you. It is my duty to stay." 

“ God help me, if you weren’t an old man, and 
my uncle, I — I’d — ’’ Elias faltered. His clenched 
fists completed the sentence. 

“ Put me out ? But I am an old man, and your 
uncle ; and so you won’t, eh ? ’’ rejoined the rabbi, 
with maddening coolness. 

“ You must forgive me," said Elias, recovering 


138 THE YOKE OF THE THOR AH. 

a little his self-possession. I ought not to have 
threatened you. I didn’t mean to. But you don’t 
know how you make me suffer. You don’t know 
what torture it is.” 

“ Oh, that’s all right. You needn’t apologize,” 
the rabbi said. 

“ But what I ask,” Elias went on, “ I ask as a 
kindness, please leave me alone.” 

“ That,” returned the rabbi, ‘‘ is a request which 
I am compelled to deny.” 

Elias stood still for an instant, as if undeterm- 
ined what to do. He felt the blood rush angrily 
to his brain, and then sink away, leaving a violent 
ache behind it. “ Well, I suppose I’ll have to grin 
and bear it, then,” he said by and by, and dropped 
upon a chair. 

After an interval of silence Elias began, with 
sufficient coolness, Would you mind telling me 
why you consider it your duty to remain with me 
all day ? ” 

** It is my duty to be on hand, to be at your side, 
when the moment of your need shall arrive. It 
may be any moment now.” 

Of my need ? I don’t understand.” 

“ When the Lord manifests Himself,” the rabbi 
explained. 

Oh,” said Elias, and relapsed into silence. He 
added presently, “ I’m going down stairs, to get a 
glass of water,” and rose. 

** You’ll come back ? ” questioned the rabbi, 

** Yes, I suppose so.” 


THE YOKE OF THE THOR AH. 139 

But when he had reached the foot of the staircase, 
and saw his hat hanging from the rack near the 
vestibule door, a temptation presented itself which 
was too strong for flesh and blood to resist. He 
caught his hat up, and put it upon his head, and 
dashed out into the street. It was raining. He 
had no umbrella. But he did not mind. He 
walked rapidly, without an objective point, with- 
out even noticing what direction he followed. 


XII. 



T first, as might have been expected, Elias’s 


i\ sensation was simply one of immense relief — 
relief to have got clear of the house, to have es- 
caped the forced companionship of his uncle. But, 
of course, the inherent elasticity of healthy human 
nature was bound ere long to assert itself. There 
was bound to ensue not relief only, but reaction. 
A weight had been lifted from off his spirits ; they, 
compliant to the law of their being, rebounded — 
sprang up far above their ordinary level. From 
unwonted depression, his mood leaped to unwonted 
exaltation. It seemed as though a great billow of 
happiness broke over him, and sent a glow of 
delicious warmth penetrating to the innermost 
fibers of his consciousness. A flood of jubilant 
thoughts broke loose in his brain, and swept away 
the last vestige of disquiet that had been lurking 


140 THE YOKE OF THE THOR AH. 

there. Forgotten were the pains and fears of the 
night ; sunken quite out of mind, the exasperation 
and the anger of the past few hours. The love of 
Christine burned hot in his heart. The realization 
that this very night she was to become his bride, 
his wife, radiated like a light through his senses. 
So intense, indeed, was his thought of her, that he 
could all but see her in visible shape before him, 
smiling upon him through her bright brown eyes, 
offering him her sweet red lips to kiss. He could 
all but feel the warmth and softness of her hand in 
his, and breathe the dainty perfume which, flower- 
like, she shed upon the air that circled round her. 
His joy lent lightness to his footstep. If he had 
worn the winged sandals of Mercury, he could not 
have marched along with greater buoyancy or 
speed. It sharpened all his faculties for pleasure, 
and deadened all his sensibilities to discomfort, like 
rich, strong wine. The rain, beating through his 
clothing, and wetting his skin — that was a pleas- 
ure. The wind, blowing in his face, brisk and cold 
— that was a pleasure. It was a pleasure to tread 
the soppy, slippery sidewalk, a pleasure to gaze 
down the long, dark vistas of the streets. The 
atmosphere, rain-cleansed, had a fresh, invigora- 
ting smell. 

He wanted very much to go and see his lady- 
love, but he debated with himself whether he had 
better. In the first place, it seemed only right and 
delicate not to intrude upon the privacy of father 
and daughter this last day. It seemed as though 


THE YOKE OF THE THORAH. 141 

he owed this much to Redwood. But then, too, as 
she did not expect him, he would have to explain 
the reasons for his coming ; and he was loth to tell 
her the story of what had happened since their 
leave-taking of last night. It would distress and 
worry her ; and would it not, also, reveal a certain 
weakness, at least a too great impressionability, in 
himself ? Besides, to descend to minor considera- 
tions, with garments dripping wet, he was in no fit 
state to present himself before her. He would be 
sure to excite her apprehension lest he had caught 
a cold. Excellent arguments against yielding to 
his inclination, unquestionably ; notwithstanding 
which, however, and even while his brain was busy 
formulating them, his muscles of locomotion, con- 
trolled by his unconscious will, were bearing him 
steadily and rapidly toward the quarter of the city 
in which Christine lived. And by and by, with a 
good deal of surprise, he found that he had arrived 
at the corner of Eighth Avenue and Sixty-third 
Street, and was within eye-shot of Redwood’s 
door. 

Here he halted. The arguments against pro- 
ceeding pressed upon him with renewed force. He 
cast a longing glance over at the house, swallowed 
his desire, right-about faced, and walked away. 

A few strides brought him to the edge of Cen- 
tral Park. He turned in. 

The park, of course, was deserted. A single 
moist and melancholy policeman kept guard at the 
gate. His features betokened a gloomy, phlegmatic 


142 THE YOKE OF THE THORAH 

wonder, as Elias, without an umbrella, passed him 
by. 

The air in the park bore a racy, earthy odor, 
brought out by the rain. The young leaves of the 
trees, pale green, fluttered in bright contrast against 
the background of dull gray cloud. The green- 
sward had profited by its bath, and gleamed with a 
silken luster. It was very quiet. The pattering 
of the rain-drops, the rustling of the foliage in the 
wind, and now and then the note of a venturesome 
bird, were the only sounds. Of town noises, there 
were none. New York might have lain a hundred 
leagues away. All of which Elias, as he trudged 
along, was dimly but agreeably aware of. It had 
cost him dear to give up his wish to see his sweet- 
heart ; and now he was seeking consolation among 
these leafy pathways, where he and she had so often 
sauntered side by side, and where every thing 
vividly recalled her. Ere a great while he had 
reached that pine-topped rock which had been 
their habitual resting-place, and was to be — ! He 
climbed to the summit of it. He had never before 
been here without her. His heart throbbed hard, 
so strong and so sweet were the memories that 
thronged upon him. 

But, standing still, he pretty soon began to real- 
ize that a wet skin is not after all an unmitigated 
luxury. He began to feel cold. ^ It occurred to 
him for the first time that he had perhaps been 
imprudent, that at any rate he had better go home 
now, and get into dry clothes. Yet, if he went 


THE YOKE OF THE THOR AH 143 

home, he would have to meet the rabbi again ; and, 
by the by, the rabbi doubtless supposed that he 
had deliberately deceived him — had slipped out of 
the room on the pretext of wanting a glass of 
water, with the deliberate intention of not coming 
back. But during his outing he had gained con- 
siderable fortitude ; his repugnance for the notion 
of the rabbi’s society had abated a good deal ; and, 
looking forward, he thought that he should not 
find it half so objectionable as he had done a while 
ago. For the matter of deception, the rabbi was 
at liberty to believe whatever he chose. Such de- 
ception would have been justifiable, anyhow — would 
have been practiced in self-defense. 

He looked at his watch, and saw with astonish- 
ment that it was three o’clock. He had taken no 
note of time, but he was surprised to learn that so 
much had glided by. He would have to go home, 
any way, before long now, to make ready for the 
evening. Without further delay, he turned his face 
toward the outlet of the park, and marched off at a 
rapid gait. 

' He let himself into the house as noiselessly as he 
could, mounted directly to his bedroom, shot the 
bolt, and at once set about changing his clothes. 
But in a very few minutes there came a tap at the 
door. He knew perfectly well who it was : never- 
theless, he called out, “ Who’s there ? ” 

“ I,” answered the rabbi. 

“ Well, what do you want ? ” 

I want to see you. You know what I want.’* 


144 


THE YOKE OF THE THORAH. 


“ Well, I can’t let you in just now. I’m un- 
dressed.” 

That makes no difference. I sha’n’t mind 
that.” 

“ Oh, but / should mind it.” 

The rabbi remained silent for a moment ; then, 
“ Do you think it was exactly honorable, the way 
you acted ? ” he inquired. 

What way ? ” 

‘‘ Telling me an untruth, and then stealing out 
of the house ? ” 

“ I didn’t mean to tell you an untruth. It was 
an inspiration, after I had left you. Any how, all’s 
fair in love and war, you know.” 

Elias chuckled softly to himself. 

“ What are you laughing at ? ” the rabbi asked. 

** Tm not laughing.” 

‘‘ Well, nothing has happened ? You’re all 
right ? ” 

** Yes ; I haven’t been struck by lightning 
yet.” 

** Don’t talk like that, Elias. It’s blasphemous.” 

Elias made no answer. 

Presently the rabbi said, “ Well, aren’t you ready 
to let me in yet ? ” 

*‘No.” 

“ How soon will you be ? ” 

“ I don’t know.” 

“Five minutes ? ” 

“ No, I guess not. I guess not at all.” 

“ Why not ? ” 


THE YOKE OF THE THOR AH. 145 

“ Because, frankly, your presence is irksome to 
me.” 

“ How so ? ” 

“ Oh, I can’t analyze it. You make me feel 
uncomfortable. Put yourself in my place, and 
you’ll understand.” 

“ You’re mistaken, Elias. It isn’t I that makes 
you feel uncomfortable.” 

“ Who, then ? ” 

“ Nobody. It’s your guilty conscience.” 

“ So ? My guilty conscience doesn’t trouble me 
much, when you’re not around.” 

“ How about last night ? ” 

“ What do you mean ? ” 

Why, it kept you awake all night, didn’t it ? ” 

“ Oh.” 

“Well, didn’t it?” 

“ Gammon. I was busy, making my preparations 
for this evening.” 

“ Oh, that reminds me. At what time is it your 
intention to start ? ” 

“ Start ? ” 

“ Yes, for the place of the wedding.’* 

“ Why do you want to know ? ” 

“ So as to be ready.” 

“ Ready for what ? ” 

“ To start with you.” 

“ Good heavens ! You don’t mean to say that 
you expect to go with me to the wedding ? ” 

“ Certainly.” 

“ O, well, really, I can’t let you.” 


14 ^ THE YOHE OF THE THOR AH. 

Why not ? " 

can’t let you make a scene there. You may 
plague tue as much as you like. But I can’t have 
any disturbance at the wedding.” 

“ You ought to know me well enough not to fear 
my making a disturbance. I’m not in the habit of 
making disturbances.” 

“ Well, then, what do you want to go for ? ” 
Simply to be there.” 

“ But I thought — I thought my own going was 
to be prevented.” 

“ Oh, no, I never said that. You may be suffered 
to go. It is the performance of the wedding cere- 
mony that will be prevented.” 

“ Oh, then you think the ‘ moment of my need ’ 
has been put off a little ? ” 

“ I don’t know. I say, you may be permitted to 
continue straight up to the brink, but before the 
marriage is consummated, the Lord will inter- 
fere.” 

“ His confidence is weakening,” thought Elias, 
and held his tongue. 

‘‘ Well ? ” questioned the rabbi. 

“ Well, what ? ” 

** At what hour shall I be ready ? ” 

** You promise not to make a row ? ” 

** You needn’t be afraid.” 

” And to conduct yourself exactly as though you 
were an ordinary guest ? ” 

“ I generally conduct myself as a gentleman^ 
don’t I ? ” 


THE YOKE OF THE THORAH. 147 

Well, then, I mean to leave here at a quarter 
before eight.” 

“ All right,” said the rabbi ; and now it is a 
quarter after four. Since you refuse to let me in. 
I’ll go and sit in my own bedroom. I might 
catch cold, standing here in the hall. Call me if 
any thing should happen.” 

For the sake of killing time, Elias dawdled as 
long as he could over his toilet. When, at length, 
it was completed, he picked up a book, and, seat- 
ing himself at the window, tried to read. But it 
was no use. His mind wandered. The thought 
of his wedding was the only thought that he could 
keep fast hold of. He was very much excited and 
very impatient. He wished heartily that it was 
over and done with, and thus all room for doubt or 
accident excluded. He wondered how he would 
manage to survive the remaining hours. What a 
pity that he had not left something till the last 
moment to be attended to. Then he would have 
had an occupation. But, unfortunately, every 
arrangement was complete. He had packed all 
his trunks, and sent them off to the steamer. A 
shawl-strap and a hand-satchel were the only lug- 
gage not thus disposed of ; and these, also, were 
packed and locked. Well, he must busy himself 
with something ; and so by and by he proceeded 
slowly to unpack the hand-satchel, and thereupon 
forthwith to pack it over again. He had about 
finished, when the dinner-bell rang. That meant 
half-past six. 


148 THE YOKE OF THE THORAH. 

The dinner-bell sounded musically in Elias’s ears, 
partly because he thought that he was hungry, 
chiefly because the process of dining would con- 
sume a certain quantity of time. 

He found the rabbi already established at the 
table. He observed, with a half contemptuous, 
half annoyed, sense of its childishness, that the 
rabbi had discarded his customary white cravat for 
a black one — a thing which he never did except 
when he had a funeral to conduct. 

The two men covered their heads. The rabbi 
intoned his grace. The servant brought in the eat- 
ables. Elias asked her to go out to the livery-stable, 
and order a carriage for a quarter to eight. She 
had been employed, in the Bacharach household as 
long as Elias could remember, this servant, Maggie. 
Now she felt entitled to display a little friendly 
curiosity. 

“ Excuse me,” said she, for asking ; but is it 
true, Mr. Elias, that you’re going to get married 
to-night ? ” 

Elias was about to answer, when the rabbi 
interposed : 

Who has been putting such a notion into your 
head ? Of course, it isn’t true. When Mr. Elias 
gets married, you shall be invited to the wedding, 
Maggie.” 

Elias did not care to join his uncle in debate. 
Maggie went off upon her errand. They dined 
without speaking. The gentle clink of their knives 
and forks sounded painfully distinct. 


THE YOKE OF THE THOR AH. 149 

Elias’s excitement, his nervousness, his impa- 
tience, were constantly becoming more intense. 
At every unexpected noise, no matter how slight 
or how commonplace, at every footstep in the hall, 
at every clatter of dishes in the kitchen, at every 
gust of wind upon the window-pane, he started and 
caught his breath. He felt his heart alternately 
growing hot and cold. Now it would leap with 
joy, at the thought of what was so near at hand ; 
now it would cease beating, in spasmodic terror of 
some unknown calamity. It began to gallop tem- 
pestuously, when at last Elias heard the carriage 
rattle up, and stop before the house. “ Oh,” he 
told himself, it’s only the way any man in my 
place would feel. One doesn’t get married every 
day in the week.” His cheeks burned. His mouth 
was dry and feverish. His hands gave off a cold 
perspiration, and they shook like those of an old 
man. 

The rabbi entered the carriage. Elias, having 
instructed the coachman where to drive, followed. 
The carriage moved off. 

“ At a church ? ” questioned the rabbi. 

No ; at their house,” replied Elias. 

“ A large affair ? Many guests ? ” 

Very few. Perhaps twenty-five or thirty. Their 
friends.” 

“ That’s good. It would be a pity to have a 
crowd.” 

After which both held their peace. Elias leaned 
back in his seat, and looked out of the window. 


150 THE YOKE OF THE THOR AH, 

Now, not only his hands, but all his limbs, were 
trembling, quaking, as if he had the ague. He 
gritted his teeth firmly together to keep them from 
chattering. In his breast he was conscious of a 
vague, palpitating pain, very like extreme fear. He 
tried hard, but vainly, to exercise his will and his 
intelligence. In his brain all was bewilderment and 
confusion. Mechanically, he repeated to himself, 
“ It is as every man in my place would feel.” But 
he did not believe it. His condition mystified him 
completely. He was suffering miserably. One 
thought alone rode clear above the mental hurri- 
cane : ‘‘Thank God, it will soon be over.” Mean- 
while, in a dull, sick way, he was looking out of the 
window, and observing the progress of the carriage. 
Onward, onward, they were jolting, through the 
wet streets, where the sidewalks, like inky mirrors, 
gave back distorted images of the street lamps ; 
past blazing shop-fronts, past jingling horse-cars, 
past solitary foot-passengers ; ever nearer and 
nearer to their destination ; and that sinking in his 
breast, and that uproar in his brain, ever growing 
more marked, more painful, more perplexing. A 
happy bridegroom driving to his wedding ! More 
like a doomed criminal driving to the place of ex- 
piation. Presently they reached the great circle at 
the junction of Fifty-ninth Street and Eighth 
Avenue. Elias drew a long, deep breath, clenched 
his fists, straightened up, by a huge effort mustered 
a little self-possession, and announced faintly,“ Well, 


THE YOKE OF THE THOR AH. 15 1 

we’re almost there.” To his bewildered senses, his 
own voice sounded unfamiliar and far away. 

A few seconds of acute suspense, and the car- 
riage came to a stand-still in front of Redwood’s 
door. 

“ Well,” began the rabbi, as Elias made no move- 
ment, “ is this the house ? ” 

“ Yes,” 

“ Well, sha’n’t we get out ? ” 

“ Yes, of course. But first, let me tell you. You 
go right into the parlor — at the left as we enter. 
I’ll go straight up-stairs. For God’s sake, remember 
your promise. Don’t — don’t make any disturbance 
here.” 

They got out of the carriage, and climbed the 
stoop, over which an awning had been erected. 
The door was opened by a negro, in dress-suit and 
white gloves. The rabbi, pursuant to Elias’s re- 
quest, turned at once into the parlor, where already 
a half-dozen early arrivals were assembled. Elias, 
bearing the rabbi’s hat and overcoat, hurried up the 
staircase to the room that had been set apart for 
him. There, having slammed the door behind him, 
he flung himself into an easy-chair, took his head 
between his hands, closed his eyes, and strove with 
might and main to summon a little strength, a little 
composure. 

“ There is no more chance of its taking place, 
than there is of the sun’s failing to rise to-morrow 
morning ” — that phrase had begun again to ring 
hideously in his ears. 


152 THE YOKE OF THE THORAH 

Pretty soon he became aware that he was no 
longer alone. Somebody had entered the room, 
and was speaking to him. He looked up. Dazed 
and dizzy, as if through a veil, he saw old Redwood 
standing before him. 

** Did you speak ? What did you say ? ” he asked. 

** I said how-d’ye-do,” answered Redwood. “ You 
look sort of rattled. What’s the matter with you ? ” 

“ Oh, nothing. I’m very well, thank you. How 
— where is Christine ? ” 

“ Oh, she’s busy making her toilet — she and her 
friends. They’ve been at it pretty much all the 
afternoon. But, I say, brace up. Would you like 
something to drink ? ” 

“ No. Much obliged, but I — I’m all right. 
Only a little excited^ you know.” 

“ And, by the way, who was that old party that 
came in with ye — black and white ? ” 

“ Black and white ? ” 

« Yes — black hair, white face — black tie, white 
collar — looks like a parson, and like an Tsraelite, 
at the same time.” 

“ Oh, that’s my uncle — Dr. Gedaza.” 

** You don’t say so ! So he’s come around, has 
he ? Relented, and got reconciled ? Well, I must 
go down stairs, and clasp his fist.” 

“ No ; don’t please. That is, I wouldn’t if I 
were you. Better let him alone,” said Elias. 

“ Why, man alive, why not ? Mustn’t I do the 
honors of the house ? ” 

“ Yes ; but he— -he’s sort of eccentric. I wouldn’t 


THE YOKE OF THE THOR AH, 153 

pay any attention to him. It might get him started, 
you understand.” 

“ Oh, well, you know him, I suppose ; and if 
you say so, all right. But it don’t seem just the 
thing not to bid him welcome. You’ll have to 
excuse me, any how, now. The guests are arriving 
right along, and I must be on deck to receive 
’em.” 

Old Redwood departed. Elias felt rather better 
— less feverish and excited, but somewhat dull and 
weak. 

In a few minutes Redwood reappeared. 

Come,” he cried. “ Chris is ready — waiting 
for ye.” 

Elias’s heart bounding fiercely, he rose, and 
followed the old man through the hall into the 
front room. Christine advanced to meet him, a 
vision of dazzling whiteness. “ Oh, I’m so afraid,” 
she whispered, as he folded her in his arms. Then, 
after he had released her, “ Here, dear,” she said, 
and plucked a rosebud from her bouquet, and 
pinned it into his button-hole. Her fingers trem- 
bled. A truant wisp of golden hair lightly brushed 
his cheek. 

“ Now, children,” said old Redwood, you 
understand the programme, do ye ? I go in first, 
and stand up alongside the parson. You follow 
about a minute after, Christine leaning on Elias’s 
left arm. Now the sooner you’re ready the better. 
Shall I start ? ” 

“ Yes,” they answered. 


IS4 THE YOKE OF THE T HO RAH, 

He kissed his daughter, wrung Elias’s hand, and 
left the room. 

The clergyman stood between the front parlor 
windows. At a distance of two or three yards, 
the guests formed an irregular horse-shoe. There 
were a few young girls in bright colors, a few young 
men in white waistcoats and swallow-tails. The 
rest were elderly folk, the women in black silks, 
the men in blac^ frock-coats. A goodly quantity 
of cut flowers, distributed about the room, refreshed 
the hot, close air. 

There was a low buzz of conversation — which, 
however, abruptly subsided, as the door opened, 
and old Redwood marched gravely up, and took 
his position at the clergyman’s right hand. 

The inevitable hush of expectancy. All eyes 
focused upon the door. Through which, next 
instant, entered the bridal couple, and walked 
slowly forward to where they were awaited. 

Dearly beloved,” solemnly began the minister, 

we are gathered together here in the sight of 
God, and in the face of this company, to join 
together this man and this woman in holy matri- 
mony ” — and continued to the end of his prelimi- 
nary address. 

After a brief pause, he proceeded : “ Elias, wilt 
thou have this woman, Christine, to thy wedded 
wife, to live together after God’s ordinance in the 
holy estate of matrimony ? Wilt thou love her, 
comfort her, honor and keep her in sickness and in 


THE YOKE OF THE THORAH. 1^5 

health ; and, forsaking al! others, keep thee only 
unto her, so long as ye both shall live ? ” — and 
again paused, waiting for Elias to respond. 

A crimson flush suffused Elias’s face, then, in an 
instant, faded to an intense waxen pallor. A film, 
a glassiness, appeared to form over the pupils of 
his eyes. His lips parted and twisted convulsively, 
writhing, as if in a desperate struggle to shape the 
expected words. Suddenly he threw his arm up 
into the air ; a stifled, broken groan burst from his 
throat ; he fell backward, head foremost, full length 
upon the floor, and lay there rigid, lifeless. 

For a moment a breathless, startled stillness 
among the people. Then a quick outbreak of 
voices, and an eager pressing forward toward the 
spot where Elias had fallen. 

Christine for a breathing-space remained motion- 
less, aghast. All at once, “ Oh, my God ! He is 
dead — dead ! ” she cried, an agonized, heart-piercing 
cry, and sank upon her knees beside him, and flung 
herself sobbing upon his breast. 

Parrot-like, the guests caught up her cry, and 
repeated it in low, awed tones among themselves : 

** He is dead. He has dropped down dead.” 

The poor minister looked very badly scared, and 
as though he felt it incumbent upon him to say or 
to do something, without knowing what. 

At first old Redwood himself had started back, 
completely staggered. But he very speedily re- 
covered his presence of mind. 

“Oh, no, he ain’t dead either,” he called out. 


15 ^ the yoke of the thorah. 

** He’s got a fit or something. Hey, Dr. Whipple, 
down there ! Come up here — will ye ? — and see 
what ye can do." 

The person thus appealed to, a tall old gentle* 
man, with iron-gray hair, had gradually been elbow- 
ing his way to the front ; and before Redwood 
had fairly spoken his last word, was bending over 
Elias, and gazing curiously at his face. 

Close upon the doctor’s heels came the rabbi. 
The rabbi’s countenance wore a strangely inappro- 
priate smile — one would have said, a smile of satis- 
faction. 

“ Well, doctor ? ’’ questioned Redwood. 

‘‘Oh, doctor, doctor," cried Christine, looking 
up through her tears, “ is — is he — ? " 

“ No, no, my child," answered the doctor, kindly. 
“ He’ll be as well as ever in an hour or two — only 
a bit head-achey and shaken up. There’s no occa- 
sion for any alarm at all." Turning to Redwood : 
“ It’s epilepsy. Does he have these attacks often ? ’’ 

“ I’m blamed if I knew he had them at all," said 
Redwood. “ How is it about that ? ’’ he asked, 
addressing the rabbi. 

“ He has never been troubled this way before," 
the rabbi replied. 

“Perhaps it’s in his family?" questioned the 
doctor. 

“ Perhaps. I don’t know," the rabbi answered, 
though he did know perfectly well that Elias’s 
father had died in an epileptic fit ; a fact, by the 
way, of which Elias himself was ignorant. 


THE YOKE OF THE THORAH. IS 7 

Brought on, then, by nervous excitement, worry, 
loss of sleep, or what not, I suppose. It will be 
interesting to note whether he ever has another,” 
the medical man concluded. 

Christine, upon receiving the doctor’s assurance 
that her lover was in no danger of death, had begun 
anew to sob upon his breast, more violently, if pos- 
sible, than at first. 

The clergyman had retired to the back parlor, 
and was discoursing of the mishap to a bevy of 
gaping guests. 

“ He turned as red, madam, as red as a beet,” 
the clergyman declared, “and then as white — as 
white as your handkerchief, and frothed at the 
mouth. I never saw a person turn so white — posi- 
tively livid. Conceive my feelings. I was really 
very much pained, and very apprehensive. I 
thought certainly that it was heart-disease, and that 
he was about to breathe his last. I can’t tell you 
how distressing it is, to have such a thing occur in 
the midst of such a joyful occasion. It has given 
my nerves a most serious shock.” 

His auditors murmured sympathetically. 

“ Well, doctor, what’s to be done ? Can you 
fetch him around ? ” Redwood asked. 

“ Oh,” the doctor said, “ he’ll come around 
naturally in a little while — an hour or two, at the 
furthest. I think that we had better carry him to 
another room, where it will be quieter and cooler 
and away from the people.” 


15 ^ the yoke of the THOR ah 

** No,” put in the rabbi ; “ if you will help me get 
him into the carriage, I’ll take him home.” 

“ Why,” exclaimed Redwood, “ if you do that 
we’ll have to postpone the wedding.” 

“ Yes, I shouldn’t wonder,” concurred the 
rabbi. 

“ But then — there’ll be the very deuce to pay. 
Here are these guests assembled, and supper pre- 
pared, and their passage engaged on to-morrow’s 
steamer, and their trunks gone aboard, by George, 
and every thing in apple-pie order ; and take it all 
around, you couldn’t make a more awkward propo- 
sition.” 

“ Add to which,” interposed the medical man, 
“ that in his present condition, a carriage-drive, 
and the jolting up which it would involve, are just 
the things that might do him the most injury.” 

“ I’m sorry,” the rabbi said ; “ but being his 
only relative here, I feel myself responsible for him, 
and must act as my own judgment directs. I 
shall thank you, therefore, if you will assist me in 
carrying him to our carriage.” 

“ I’ll be hanged,” cried Redwood, “ if I think it's 
decent for you to step in here, and knock all our 
plans into a cocked hat, like that. And, any how, 
didn’t you hear the doctor say that a carriage drive 
would hurt him ? ” 

And yet,” volunteered the doctor, “ if the gen- 
tleman insists, Mr. Redwood, it will be wiser to let 
him have his own way. A dispute, you know, 
under the circumstances, is hardly desirable.” 


THE YOKE OF THE THOR AH. 159 

I do insist. I feel in duty bound to,” said the 
rabbi. 

“ Well, you’ve got a mighty queer sense of duty, 
then,” retorted Redwood ; “ and you can bet your 
life that when Elias comes to, he’ll be as mad as 
jingo. But if you choose to take the responsibility 
on your own shoulders, go ahead.” 

When Christine saw that they were about to bear 
Elias from the room, she demanded eagerly, almost 
fiercely, whither ? And upon being informed that 
the rabbi meant to carry him home, she passion- 
ately besought the old man not to do it ; imploring 
him to let her sweetheart remain where he was, at 
least till he should have regained his senses ; and 
pleading that until then she could not help fearing 
the worst. 

“ Oh, sir — please— don’t take him away 
from me. How shall I rest, until he has come to, 
and spoken to me ? Oh, I can’t — I can’t bear to 
have you take him away, like that. If you would 
only leave him till he can speak to me ! What 
shall I do, all night long, not knowing whether he 
is sick — or dead — or what, and — and always seeing 
him before me, that way ? Oh, there, there ! They 
are taking him away. Oh, Elias ! Oh, sir ! Oh, 
God, God ! Oh, what shall I do ? ” 

She might as well have addressed her entreaties 
to a stone. Neither by gesture, nor by word of 
mouth, nor by variation of feature, did the 
rabbi signify that he had even heard her voice, or 
was even aware of her existence. The carriage 


i6o 


THE YOKE OF THE THORAH. 


drove away, leaving Christine in a paroxysm of 
frantic grief. 

Well,” remarked old Redwood to Dr. Whipple, 
“ I’ve heard tell of bowels of mercy ; but actually, 
that old Hebrew there, he must have bowels of 
brass.” 


XIII. 



LOWLY recovering his senses, the first thing 


0 that Elias became conscious of, was a racking 
headache. By and by he opened his eyes, and 
glanced around. Vaguely, as if half waking, half 
dreaming, he saw that he was lying fully dressed 
upon his own bed in his own bed-chamber. The 
gas was turned down low. By fits and starts a puff 
of fresh, cool air blew through the open window, 
making the curtain flap noisily, and the gas-flame 
flicker. Nobody else was in the room. Pretty 
soon he closed his eyes again, and again for a while 
was aware only of that desperate pain in the head. 

But by degrees a certain sluggish perplexity 
began to assert itself, a certain dull surprise and 
curiosity. 

“ There is something strange — something I don’t 
understand. How do I come to be here ? Have 

1 been asleep and dreaming ? Or is it true that a 
little while ago I was somewhere else ? Where ? 
I was doing something — something important — 


THE YOKE OF THE THOR AH, i6l 

something that somebody else was doing with me. 
What ? And then something happened. And — and 
now, here I am, lying here as though I had just 
waked out of a sleep, but all dressed, and with such, 
with such a headache — Let me think.” 

He tried hard to think ; but in his mind all was 
impenetrable darkness, through which his thought 
groped at random, catching no gleam to follow ; 
until of a sudden, a swift, intense lightning-flash of 
memory ; and in an instant of supreme horror — 
with a mental recoil that communicated itself to 
his body, and made it start convulsively — he beheld 
what he supposed to be the appalling truth. Upon 
that lightning-flash, succeeded a very thunder- 
storm confusion in his brain. 

“ Oh, God ! ” he cried ; and again and again, 
«‘Oh, God!” 

Just what was it that he remembered ? 

“ I remembered,” says he, in another part of that 
letter from which an excerpt was printed in Chap- 
ter X., ‘‘ I remembered every thing down to the 
moment of my falling, with unaccustomed vivid- 
ness and detail. I remembered our entering the 
parlor — you trembling upon my arm ! — and run- 
ning the gauntlet of the guests, and coming to a 
stand-still before the clergyman. I remembered 
the address that he had made ; and how you had 
listened, with downcast eyes and blushing cheeks ; 
and how I had — well, scarcely listened — but waited 
till he should finish, with eyes fastened upon 
your face, and heart beating hard for happiness. 


i 62 


THE YOKE OF THE THORAH. 


I remembered his asking, ‘Wilt thou take this 
woman, Christine, to thy wedded wife ? ' and the 
glow of joy and pride and triumph, with which I 
prepared to answer. I remembered that then, just 
as I was opening my lips to speak, it seemed as 
though suddenly a dazzling disk of light rose be- 
fore my eyes, changing color in rapid pulsations 
from white through yellow to scarlet ; a sudden, 
tingling pain, like a powerful electric current, start- 
ing in the back of my head, shot through my body ; 
a hard, sharp lump stuck in my throat ; I felt that 
I was losing my ability to stand upright. I tried 
with might and main to keep my feet, and to speak 
the two necessary words. But I could not. My 
limbs contracted spasmodically. I heard a sharp 
explosion, like the report of a pistol, which sounded 
and felt as though somehow it came from within 
my own head. I cried out. I believed that I was 
surely dying. There was a second of immense 
agony — fear of death. I fell. Up to that point, I 
remembered every thing perfectly. But at that 
point, my memory broke short off.” 

And remembering these things in this way, what 
did he conclude ? He jumped to a conclusion 
which was most unwarrantable and most deplora- 
able, but which, considering all the circumstances, 
considering the fact that he was a Jew, born a Jew, 
bred a Jew, and the fact that for countless genera- 
tions his ancestors upon every side had been Jews 
of the Jews, can scarcely be regarded as unnatural. 
He concluded that what the rabbi had prophesied 


THE YOKE OF THE THOR AH. 163 

had come to pass. He concluded that the God of 
Israel had indeed interfered. 

The wild, black chaos, into which this conclusion 
hurled all his faculties, all his ideas, all his emo- 
tions, who shall describe ? Was it not unspeakable 
even to himself ? With horror-struck soul, the 
horror quivering through every atom and fiber of 
his being, he could only lie there upon his bed, 
shuddering, and moaning out, “ Oh, God ! oh, God ! 
oh, God ! ” 

In wonder-tales and mystical romances, we are 
accustomed to see the supernatural dealt with com- 
posedly enough. Surprise, amazement even, it may 
inspire in the fictitious personages confronted by 
it. But when, outside of literature, in what we call 
real life, a man of ordinary sensitiveness persuades 
himself that he has felt the contact of that awful, 
questionable Something which lies beyond the 
limits of common experience, his revulsion of feel- 
ing does not stop at amazement or surprise. All 
his theories and principles of life, tacit, uncon- 
scious perhaps, though many of them may be, are 
shaken from their foundations, disorganized, thrown 
into confusion ; and his predominant sensation, we 
may be sure, is one of blood-curdling, panic hor- 
ror. Such, at least, was the truth with Elias. His 
heart seemed to have frozen in his bosom ; and he 
was sick with fear from head to foot. 

Presently — how long after his recovery, he could 
not have told — he felt the touch of a cool hand 
upon his forehead, and heard the voice of his uncle 


1 64 THE YOKE OF THE THOR AH. 

low and gentle, say, “ Elias, my poor boy, are you 
suffering ? Are you in pain ? " 

He looked up into his uncle’s face. 

“ Oh, thank God ! ” he cried. Thank God, 
that you have come ! Stay with me. Turn up the 
gas. I want light — plenty of light. Turn it up 
full head. There — that’s right. Now, sit down — 
here — near me. Don’t leave me alone. For God's 
sake, don’t leave me alone. Oh, it is good, so good, 
to have somebody with me. It was horrible to be 
all alone.” 

The rabbi drew a chair up to Elias’s bedside, 
and seated himself there. 

“ If you could go to sleep, Elias,” he said, it 
would be the best thing for you.” 

“ If I could go to sleep ! ” Elias laughed a harsh, 
unmirthful laugh. “ If I could go to sleep ! That’s 
good ! ” Then, loudly, passionately : “ How shall 
I ever go to sleep again ? Are you crazy, to talk 
to me of sleep ! Don’t you know what has hap- 
pened ? Oh, my God, my God ! And he talks to 
me of sleep ! Sleep ! Man alive, how — how shall 
I ever do any thing in all my life again, but — but — 
Oh ! ” His voice broke into an inarticulate groan. 
He had started up, leaning on his elbow. Now he 
fell back flat. 

“ You are very much excited,” said the rabbi. 
“ You must try to calm yourself. Is the pain very 
great ? ” 

“ Oh, the pain — the pain is nothing. I have a 
headache, yes. But that is nothing. I wish it was 


THE YOKE OF THE THOR AH. 165 

ten times worse. I like the pain. If it were worse, 
then I might — I might forget the fearful, awful — 
oh, I can’t express it. Put yourself in my place. 
If it had happened to you, how do you think you 
would feel ? Oh, it’s very easy for you to sit there 
comfortably, and talk to me about going to sleep.” 

“ If it had happened to me, Elias, I should re- 
joice in it,” the rabbi answered ; and then, as Elias 
made no retort, went quietly, gravely, on : “ In- 
stead of agitating and terrifying you, Elias, the 
knowledge that you have gained of how close the 
relations are between the Lord our God and His 
chosen people, ought to inspire you with a deep, 
serene joy, with a feeling of infinite gratitude, and 
of perfect confidence. It should rejoice you, to 
know that the Lord is your constant, steadfast com- 
panion, that He follows your every footstep with the 
personal solicitude of a father. Awful, yes ; but 
grand, beautiful, inspiring, and of unspeakable 
comfort amid the trials and perils of the world. 
Think, Elias, and try to appreciate, how great the 
Lord’s love for you has been shown to be — His love 
and His mercy. You — were you not purposing the 
commission of the most deadly of sins ? A sin 
which would have pursued you with unceasing pen- 
alties to your grave, and for which not you alone, 
but your children, and your children’s children, 
would have had to suffer ? And in His abundant 
love, what did the Lord do ? He suffered you to 
persist up to the very brink of the precipice, and to 
gaze down into the abyss of iniquity ; but before 


l 66 the yoke of the thorah, 

you had taken the final, fatal step, and fallen, Ic ! 
He stretched out His arm ; He saved you from de- 
struction ; and, like a forgiving parent. He brought 
you back to His bosom. Isn’t what I say true, 
Elias?” 

The rabbi paused ; but Elias remained silent. 

“ Answer me, Elias. Isn’t it true ? ” 

Oh, I suppose it’s true. Yes, yes, I suppose it’s 
true. But what difference does that make ? You 
— you may analyze it as much as you choose. I 
don’t deny what you say. I don’t care about that. 
But if you had been through it — if you had been 
through it — Good God ! You make me mad, sit- 
ting there, and talking philosophy to me.” 

“ Not philosophy — don’t say philosophy — say re- 
ligion. It has upset you, because, in spite of my 
warning, you did not expect it, and because you 
haven’t thought about it sufficiently. You haven’t 
pierced to the innermost substance of it, and 
thoroughly understood it. Reflect upon it, in the 
light of what I have said. Reflect that it has 
simply exemplified to you the closeness, the care- 
fulness, with which the Lord o*ur God looks to your 
welfare. As you walk among the pitfalls of life. 
He holds your hand, and sustains you. He will 
allow no evil to beset you. How safe you ought to 
feel ! What courage you ought to take ! ” 

Elias pondered the rabbi’s speech in silence. To 
the best of his comprehension, deranged as it was 
by his terror, debauched by his superstition, its 
truth seemed indisputable. 


THE YOKE OF THE THORAH. i6y 

** And now,” the rabbi continued, after a brief 
pause, “ it is apparent that the Lord has been your 
guide from the beginning. You were becoming 
indifferent — without knowing it, perhaps — indif- 
ferent to your religion. You had not zeal enough. 
You dwelt in a Christian community ; and the 
Christian atmosphere was infecting you, was cor- 
rupting you. You were, so to speak, drifting away. 
The Lord saw it. He wished to call you back. 
He wished to awaken your slumbering soul, to 
revive your flagging Judaism, to rekindle your 
ardor, which had burned down to a tiny spark. 
Well, in His wisdom, this was the means that He 
devised. He caused you to fancy yourself attached 
to a Christian woman. He allowed you to harden 
yourself to the thought of committing the extreme 
sin — to the thought of marrying her. Then, at the 
last moment. He manifested Himself. He rescued 
you from your danger. And thus He gave such 
new vitality to your faith, that there is now no pos- 
sibility of its ever becoming faint again. Oh, have 
you not reason in this to praise the Lord, and to 
thank Him, from the depths of your spirit ? Oh, 
my son, son of my sister, how signally He has 
blessed you ! ” 

“ It is true,” Elias answered, “ the Lord has 
shown me great mercy — greater than I deserved. 
I shall never doubt again. I shall always be a good 
Jew after this.” ^ 

“ And as for the — the love you talked about — ” 

“ Oh, don’t speak of it. It is dead, quite dead. 


i68 


THE YOKE OF THE THORAH. 


The Lord has struck it dead in my heart. It is as 
though it had never been — as though I had never 
seen her, or known her.” 

I was sure it would be.” 

“ The Lord has burned it out of my heart.* 

“ He has breathed upon your heart and purified it. 
I am glad you recognize it. I am glad, too, that 
you seem calmer now, and more like yourself again.” 

“ Yes, I am more like myself. I see that I had 
no reason for getting so wrought up. But — oh, it 
was frightful.” Elias shuddered. In a minute he 
asked, Can you forgive me ? ” 

“ Forgive you ? For what ? ” 

“ You know — the way I acted.” 

“ It isn’t a question of forgiveness. You didn’t 
understand. I could not have expected you to act 
otherwise.” 

“You are very generous. I was, as you say, 
ignorant. I acted like a brute.” 

“ You acted according to your light — which was 
dim. I understood. The Lord gave me to under- 
stand. When you first came into my study last 
night, and told me what you meant to do, the Lord 
gave me to understand. He assured me that it 
would all come out well in the end — that the mar- 
riage would never take place. That is why I spoke 
as I did. I felt perfectly sure. I did not fear for 
an instant. But now, Elias, we must stop talking. 
You must go to bed, and sleep.” 

“ I don’t believe I shall be able to sleep to- 
night.” 


THE YOKE OF THE THOR AH. 169 


“Yes, you will ; for I am going to give you a 
sleeping potion.” 

The potion had a speedy effect. Elias buried 
his face in the pillow, and was soon sound asleep. 

“ That obstreperous old man who was to have 
been your father-in-law, has called twice,” said the 
rabbi ; “and he is coming again at five o’clock.” 

It was in the afternoon of the following day. 
Elias had just waked up. The rabbi was seated 
upon the foot of Elias’s bed. 

“ What did he want ? ” Elias asked. 

“ Oh, he called to inquire about you — about how 
you were feeling.” 

“ And you told him } ” 

“ That you were asleep.” 

“ Is that all ?” 

“ What else ? ” 

“ I didn’t know but you might have told him of 
my — my change of heart.” 

“ No. I thought it better that he should hear of 
that from your own lips.” 

“ Why ? ” 

“ Several reasons. Chiefly, because then he can 
have no doubt about it. You can make him under- 
stand that it is assured and irrevocable. If I were to 
speak with him he might doubt my word, or suspect 
that I had been influencing you. He seems to be 
something of a fire-eater.” 

“ Well, I dare say you are right. But it will be 
very hard.” 


170 THE YOKE OF THE THOR AH. 

“ It will, undoubtedly. But there’s no help for 
it. It’s an unavoidable nuisance. Once over and 
done with it, you'll feel immensely relieved." 

“ It is strange," said Elias, “ how completely my 
affection for her seems to have been destroyed. 
Here, a little while ago, it was, and for many 
months had been, the ruling passion, the single aim 
and purpose of my life. I thought of nothing else, 
felt nothing else, cared for nothing else, all day 
long, every day. And now, it seems to have been 
utterly wiped out and obliterated, without even 
leaving a trace behind it — just as you blow out a 
candle, and the flame vanishes. I can think of her 
without any emotion of any kind. If I had never 
known her, if she had never been more than a pass- 
ing acquaintance, my indifference could not be 
greater. This is very strange, isn’t it ? " 

“No, Elias, not strange at all. You must 
remember that it is the act of the Lord. As you 
said this morning, the Lord has struck your 
passion dead in your heart. He has purified your 
heart with fire, and restored to it the cleanliness it 
had before this woman crossed your path, and 
tempted you. The truth is, you never really loved 
her at all. She exerted a certain baleful fascina- 
tion over you — a fascination which the breath of 
the Lord has dissipated, just as the breath of the 
morning dissipates the miasms that have gathered 
over night." 

“ I suppose — I suppose it will be a heavy blow 
for her. She loves me. She will suffer terribly." 


THE VOICE OF THE THOR AH. 17 1 

“ Oh, you mustn't think of that. That isn't 
your affair. The Lord has used her as His instru- 
ment. Now that her usefulness has ceased, the 
Lord will dispose of her as He deems wisest." 

But she will suffer, all the same. And here is 
what is strangest. It stands to reason — it is obvi- 
ous — and I know perfectly well — that she will suffer. 
And yet, I seem to feel no pity, no sorrow, no 
sympathy, for her — not any more than as though 
my heart were a stone. My whole capacity for 
feeling seems to have been destroyed. Perhaps it is 
so. Perhaps it has been. Perhaps the Lord — I don't 
know how to say just what I mean ; but it seems as 
though I had grown indifferent to every thing." 

“ In the main, that is the result of the shock you 
have sustained. It will pass. But as for her, the 
Lord will not allow you to feel for her. You have 
suffered enough. Her turn has come. If you 
have no sympathy for her, it is because she is 
entitled to none. The Lord desires that she shall 
receive none. She is a Christian, a Goy, despised 
and abominated of the Lord. She has served 
her purpose. Now she must bear her punish- 
ment." 

“ And yet—” 

“ No, no, boy. Don’t think about it. Don’t let 
your mind dwell upon it. You must not think of 
any thing but of how grateful you ought to be for 
your own escape. Put all your mind and heart 
into thanksgiving. Praise the Lord ! It is irrever- 
ent for you to question, to lament, the conse- 


172 


THE YOKE OE THE THORAB, 


quences which the Most High, in His wisdom, has 
ordained.” 

After an interim of silence, Elias said, “ There 
is something in this connection which, I think, I 
ought to tell you. Night before last, up in my 
studio — ” And he went on to give the rabbi an 
account of the curious experience he had had with 
his mother’s portrait. “ I thought at the time,” he 
concluded, “ that it was simply a morbid illusion 
of my senses. But now I am not so sure. What 
do you say ? What is your explanation ? ” 

“ I do not believe that the souls or spirits of the 
dead are ever permitted to manifest themselves to 
the living,” replied the rabbi ; “ and therefore I do 
not for an instant entertain the theory that it could 
have been a genuine apparition of your mother. 
But neither do I believe that it was a mere trick of 
your senses. I believe that the Lord, as a warning 
to you, caused you to see what you saw — caused 
an image of your mother’s face to rise before you. 
I am not surprised. I have known of His causing 
similar things to happen before.” 

“ It is wonderful, it is incomprehensible,” said 
Elias, “ why the Lord should take such an intimate 
interest in the welfare of a mere individual, like 
me. 

“ You are a Jew. There is not a faithful Jew 
living, but is kept constantly in the T.ord’s eye, in 
the Lord’s mind. The longer you live, the more 
perfectly will you realize the ineffable privilege 
you have enjoyed in being born a Jew.” 


THE YOKE OF THE THOR AH 173 

At about five o’clock, surely enough, old Red- 
wood called. The maid ushered him into the 
rabbi’s study, where Elias and his uncle awaited 
him. He halted just within the threshold, and 
made a stiff bow to the rabbi. Then he advanced 
upon Elias, with extended hand, exclaiming, “ Well, 
Elias, I’m glad to see you. How are you ? How 
do you do ? ” 

Elias took his hand, held it for an instant, 
dropped it, and responded, How do you do ? ” 

‘‘ That ain’t answering my question,” said Red- 
wood. “ I want to know, how do ye do ? ” 

Oh, I feel quite well, quite as usual, thank 
you,” replied Elias. “ Won’t — won’t you sit down ? ” 
“ Well, I guess I will — yes,” the old man assented, 
and did so. “ Well,” he continued, “ this has been 
the devil’s own business all around, hasn’t it ? 
Poor Chris, poor little Chris — she’s pretty near out 
of her head. She’s all broke up. She is, for a 
fact. She wanted to come down here with me — 
begged and implored me to let her. But I wouldn’t. 
I didn’t know how you might be ; and, think s’s 
I, it might just fret her worse than ever. She’s 
been scared about to death. Poor little thing ! I 
tried to comfort her, and cheer her up ; but it 
wa’n’t much use. A father don’t count for much, 
now-a-days, when a young man is concerned. I 
suppose,” he wound up abruptly, “ seeing you feel 
all right again, you’ll be up to the house to-night, 
hey? Then we can settle on a new day for the 
wedding.” 


174 the yoke of the thorah 

Elias summoned his utmost courage. “ N-no ; 
I think not,” he said. His voice was husky and 
unsteady. 

Redwood did not understand. “ Hey — what ? ” 
he queried. 

“ I say, no ; I think I shall not call this evening.” 

No ? Why, why not ? Don’t you — ain’t you 
well enough ? Chris is just — I may say, she’s just 
pining for a sight of ye. I really think she’ll get 
sick, if this thing keeps on. If you’re able to leave 
the house, I really think you’d better come up. 
She — she’s nearly cried her eyes out. I told her 
— just before I left — I told her : ^ Now, look here, 
Chris, you want to stop that crying. You want to 
dry your eyes, and bleach ’em, against Elias’s com- 
ing,’ says I, * for he won’t admire them, red like 
that.’ I said this, you know, to sort of make her 
laugh. But seriously, I’m scared about her. I 
am, actually. She hasn’t tasted a mouthful of food 
all day. I guess I’ll have to call in the doctor if 
she ain’t better to-morrow. But unless you’re con- 
siderably worse off than you look, I guess you’d 
better come up. I’ll tell you what you do — you 
come up with me now, and take dinner.” 

Elias felt that the old man was making it more 
and more difficult for him to say what would have 
to be said. He clenched his fists, and gritted his 
teeth, and began by a great effort to force out the 
words. 

‘‘ Mr. Redwood — there is a — a misunderstand- 
ing. I must set it right. I — I am exceedingly 


THE YOKE OF THE THOR AH. 175 

sorry — to — to be compelled to tell you — to tell 
you that — ” Here his voice sank to a whisper. 
He paused for a moment, drew a long breath, re- 
sumed aloud, “ — that, owing to circumstances 
which I can not perfectly explain— because, in fact, 
of our difference of religion — she being a Chris- 
tian, and I a Jew — the — the engagement — between 
Miss Redwood and myself — will have to be — broken 
off. This is quite positive. There is no help for 
it. Please — please believe it, without my saying 
more. I am very sorry. Our engagement will 
have to be broken off.” 

He did not dare to look at the man to whom he 
had spoken. He looked at his uncle. But the 
latter was watching old Redwood. 

Old Redwood’s face was eloquent. When Elias 
had begun to speak, the old man had been smiling 
good-naturedly. Gradually his smile had faded to 
an expression of blank incomprehension ; which, in 
its turn, had gradually changed to one of uttermost, 
indignant astonishment. But now, this too had 
departed, and his features had become set in a new 
smile — a smile which revealed the abyssmal con- 
tempt, the passionate, malignant scorn, at the bot- 
tom of his soul, far more clearly than the strongest 
words could have done. A grayish pallor had over- 
spread his brow. His eyes blazed upon Elias. 
Between his drawn lips, his teeth gleamed sav- 
agely. He sat still, nodding his head, and smiling 
that unpropitious smile. 

For a long while, painfully long, no one spoke. 


176 THE YOKE OF THE THOR AH, 


Elias, though he dared not look, knew how fiercely 
old Redwood was eying him — felt the heat of old 
Redwood’s gaze. His cheeks flaming, his body in 
a tremor, he sat still, afraid to stir. He could hear 
old Redwood breathe. He could hear the boister- 
ous beating of his own heart, in dread apprehen- 
sion of the brewing storm. He could hear the 
regular, metallic tick-tack of the rabbi’s clock, 
which increased the stress, as it measured the dura- 
tion, of his suspense. The rabbi, also, was smiling 
now — a smile of genial satisfaction. 

At last old Redwood moved. He shifted in his 
chair. He cleared his throat. With a single jerk 
of his tall frame, he got upon his feet. He stood 
for a few seconds, silent. Presently, “ Well, Elias 
Bacharach,” he said, in. low, dry tones, vibrant with 
suppressed fury, “ I understand that I am to inform 
my daughter from you, that, as you have said, on 
account of your difference of religion, she is to con- 
sider herself jilted and thrown over. I think that 
is the upshot of what you have said.” 

Say, rather, released from her engagement,” 
put in the rabbi, blandly. “ And if you will permit 
me, I shall be happy to explain to you the circum- 
stances which render this step unavoidable.” 

“Pardon me,” returned old Redwood, with a 
grand bow and flourish. “ I was not aware, sir, of 
having addressed you. I’m talking to Mr. Elias 
Bacharach. And now, Elias Bacharach, this is 
what I’ve got to say. I suppose you know what 
you air. I suppose you know the names I could 


THE YOKE OF THE THOR AH. 177 

call ye, if I had a mind to demean myself to calling 
names. You look in the dictionary, and you’ll find 
them printed in black and white. But I guess you 
won't need to look so far. I guess it will do just 
as well if you look in your own conscience. You 
know what you’ve done. You know how you’ve 
taken a young, innocent girl, and won her heart, 
and got it set on you, so that she don’t think of 
any thing or any body else ; and then flung her 
overboard, and spoiled her life, and darkened her 
whole youth. And you know what honest people 
think of a man who’s done that. That’s all. You 
needn't be afraid. You needn’t sit there, shaking. 
I ain’t going to hurt you. I ain’t going to touch 
you, even. I’ll go home now. I’ll go home, and tell 
the news to Christine. If it kills her, you know who’ll 
have to answer for her death.” Thus far, the old man 
had spoken with great self-control ; but here, sud- 
denly, he forgot himself. — “ But, by God,” he thun- 
dered out, “ if it does kill her, I — I’d xdX\itx have it, 
by God ! than have her married to you, now that I 
know what you are, you damn, miserable, white- 
livered Jew ! ” 

With which, he stalked from the room ; and 
next moment the street-door slammed behind him. 

“ Well, now, Elias,” said the rabbi, “ now it’s all 
over for good and all.” 

“Yes, I dare say,” replied Elias; “but I feel 
somehow as though it had just begun — as though 
the worst of it were still to come.” 

“ Oh, nonsense ! ” cried the rabbi. You’re mor- 


178 THE YOKE OF THE THOR AH. 

bid. Cheer up. Let’s celebrate your deliverance 
with a bottle of wine.^’ 


XIV. 

A pparently it did not once occur to Elias to 
seek a natural explanation for what had hap- 
pened ; and even if it had done so, I don’t believe 
it would have made much difference. But this, as 
has been said, in view of all the circumstances, was 
scarcely strange. The supernatural explanation 
had, so to speak, captured his mind by storm. 
With tremendous force and suddenness, it had 
thrust itself upon him at a moment when he was 
suffering the exhaustion and the debility consequent 
upon a violent shock ; and, once in possession, it 
clung tenaciously, and left no foothold for a saner 
judgment to stand upon. Then, besides, had not 
the rabbi’s menaces predisposed him to accept it ? 
And finally, there were heredity and education and 
mental habitude, which in such matters must surely 
count for much. Elias had been fancying that his 
inherited and sedulously cultivated superstition was 
dead and buried. Love, like a radiant St. George, 
had slain the monster. To us, wise after the fact, 
it is conceivable that it had but slumbered ; and 
now again was wide awake, breathing fire and ven- 
geance ; and had given its quondam executioner 
such a blow as might not speedily be recovered 
from, if at all. 


THE YOKE OF THE THOR AH 


179 


Elias, at any rate, did not doubt. He told him- 
self that he had been on the point of committing a 
mortal sin, one that would have removed him for- 
ever beyond the pale of divine mercy, one that 
would have entailed upon him, and upon his seed 
after him, infinite retribution. He told himself that 
at the eleventh hour heaven had intervened, and 
saved him from his own suicidal clutch. He shud- 
dered at the notion of the risk he had run. He was 
duly grateful for his deliverance. It had at first 
surprised him to find that his love of Christine had 
not survived. That which had absorbed his life, 
and shaped and directed his life, and been to his 
life what the sunlight is to the day, its vital, dom- 
inating, distinguishing principle, had vanished 
utterly out of his life, had melted phantom-like, 
and left not a shred, not a mark, not even a gap, 
behind, to show where, or of what substance, or of 
what form it had been. It was the extinguishment 
of a subtle, spiritual flame, which departs, so far as 
is determinable, nowhither — is simply swallowed up 
and assimilated by the inane. Three days ago, he 
had believed it possessed of everlasting vigor ; and 
now, it was gone as completely as the snows of yester- 
year. Death and dissolution had occurred simul- 
taneously. — But his surprise was short-lived. On 
reflection, he agreed with the rabbi, that nothing 
else could have been expected. He adopted the 
rabbi’s metaphor, and said that the breath of the 
Lord had entered his heart, and cleansed it. He 
remembered how, once before, something similar 


i8o the yoke of the THOR AH. 

had befallen, in answer to prayer. But the effects 
of that had been transitory. The effects of this, he 
thought, would be permanent. If there were the 
materials for melancholy here, Elias was callous to 
their influence. 

It seemed, indeed, that not only had his love 
been abolished, but that his entire emotional system 
had sunken into a state of apathy, and become unre- 
sponsive and inactive. He knew, for example, per- 
fectly well how Christine would suffer. The light 
of her youth would be quenched, and its sweetness 
turned to gall and wormwood. The world, that was 
so fair in her sight, would crumble suddenly to a 
wide waste of dust and ashes. An agony like fire 
would be kindled in her young heart, hopeless 
even of hope. It might perhaps, as old Red- 
wood had said, it might perhaps kill her. But if 
it did not kill her, it would do worse. She would 
have to live, and bear it. He knew all this. He 
could not help knowing it. It was too big, palpable, 
conspicuous, to be ignored. He knew it ; and 
he stated it clearly, completely, circumstantially, 
to himself. And then he wondered at his stolidity; 
for it woke not a throe either of compunction or of 
compassion. He said to himself, “ Altogether aside 
from the personal element, from the fact that she 
is who she is, and that I have been her lover ; 
altogether aside, also, from the fact that I, though 
helpless and irresponsible, am still the occasion of 
her unhappiness ; and simply because she is a 
woman, a human being, the knowledge of her over- 


THE YOKE OF THE THORAH. l8l 

whelming sorrow and utter desolation, ought to 
move me to deepest, keenest pity.'’ But it did not. 
It did not move him to a single momentary qualm. 
His condition puzzled and mystified him. He could 
imagine no way to account for it, unless by again 
following the logic of the rabbi, and assuming it to 
be the act of God. That it was merely the torpor, 
the numbness, naturally resulting from the fright, 
and the immense physical and moral shock, he had 
sustained, does not appear to have suggested itself 
to him. 

On the morning after his interview with old 
Redwood (on the morning, namely, of the fourth 
of May, 1883 ; date worth remembering), Elias was 
established at his studio-window, watching the play 
of sunlight and shadow upon the foliage opposite 
in the park, and introspecting somewhat listlessly 
in the direction above set forth, when there came 
a light tap upon his door ; and, without turning 
around, he called out, “ Come in.” He heard the 
door creak open. He heard the visitor take two 
or three steps forward into the room. Then, before 
he had looked to see who .it was, he heard his own 
name pronounced shyly, by a voice that was but 
too well-known: 

Elias ! ” 

Unspeakably astounded and discomfited, he 
sprang to his feet, faced her, and stood dumb. 

At the moment he was not conscious of noticing 
especially her appearance ; but long afterward he re- 
called it vividly. Long afterward, the pale face, 


i 82 


THE YOKE OF THE THORAH. 


the disordered golden hair, the large, dark, tearful 
eyes, the appealing attitude — hands stretched out 
toward him, face upturned — became of all his 
memories the strongest, the clearest, the most 
constant, the one on which his remorse chiefly 
fed. 

But now, he faced her and stood dumb, aware 
only of hubbub in his brain, and dismay in his 
breast. 

She, manifestly unprepared for this style of 
greeting, started back. Her eyes filled with fear. 

Oh Elias," she faltered, “ you — you make me 
think that it is true." 

He, finding his voice, cried piteously : “ Oh, 

why — why did you come here ? " 

And then they were both silent. 

At last she began : I came — because I could 
not believe — because my father told me something 
which I knew was a lie. I came to have you tell 
me that it was a lie. Oh, why did he tell me 
such a cruel thing? Why — why do you act like 
this?" 

She paused, expecting him to speak. But he 
did not speak. 

All at once she went on passionately : “ Oh, you 

don’t know what he told me. He must have wanted 
to kill me. But I knew it was a lie. I told him it 
was a lie — oh, such a shameful, cruel lie. Oh, 
God ! Here, this was it : he told me — he told me 
that you — Elias — oh, no, no, no ! I can not say it. 
But yes, yes — I will say it — I mu$t say it. He 


THE YOKE OF THE THOR AH. 183 

said that you — you did not love me any more. Oh, 
^ my God, my God ! ” 

She had moved up toward him. Now she fell 
upon his breast, and sobbed her heart out. 

He passively allowed her to remain there. What 
to do ? what to say ? he asked himself, distracted. 

“ Oh, Elias — my darling — I — I knew it could not 
be true," she was murmuring between her sobs. 

Thus, until her grief had spent itself — until she 
had had her cry out. By and by she raised her 
eyes to his, and smiling a forlorn little smile, asked 
timidly, “ You think I am very silly ? " 

But her smile did not last long. Suddenly, it 
changed to an expression of utmost woe and terror. 
She fell back a step or two. 

“ Elias ! " she cried, in a sharp, startled voice. 
“ Why do you look at me like that ? Is — do — you 
can’t — mean — that it is true ! ’’ 

He felt that he must speak. He must gather his 
forces, and make her understand. He was trying 
to. He was trying to find the words he needed. 
But before they had come to him, the door opened, 
and the rabbi glided upon the scene. 

The rabbi took in the situation at a glance. 

“ Elias," he said, “this is unfortunate. You 
ought to have called me." 

Turning to Christine : “ You have forgotten 
yourself, madam. By what right are you here ? 
Did your father send you ? I shall be happy to 
show you the way down stairs." 

He bowed in the direction of the door. 


1 84 THE YOKE OF THE THOR AH. 


She looked helplessly from the rabbi to his 
nephew ; but she found little to reassure her in 
Elias’s face. 

“ Was there any thing you had to say to this 
young lady, before she goes, Elias ? ” the rabbi 
queried, in a brisk, business-like tone. 

“ No, nothing,” Elias began faintly, “ nothing, 
except — yes, except — ” He broke off, and drew a 
sharp, loud breath ; suddenly he began anew : 
“ Christine, I am powerless. The Lord — it is the 
Lord’s will. I — it — what your father told you — it 
was the truth.” 

The words found their own way out, mechani- 
cally. He could scarcely realize that he had 
spoken. 

For an instant she stood motionless. Then she 
reeled and tottered, as if about to fall. Then she 
recovered herself. Slowly, with a dazed, stunned 
air, groping blindly, she turned, and reached the 
door, and crossed the threshold. 

The rabbi followed, shutting the door behind 
him. 

Elias dropped into a chair. Bewildered, agi- 
tated, fagged-out, undone — he felt all this. But he 
felt not a pang for her. 

“ If I had thrown you down and trampled upon 
you,” he wrote, a little less than two years after- 
ward, “ it would not have been so brutal, so cruel ; 
but if I had done it in my sleep, I could not have 
been more insensible to your pain.” 


THE YOKE OF THE THORAH, 


185 


XV. 



NE evening at dinner, about a fortnight later, 


\j “ What’s the matter, Elias ? ” the rabbi asked. 
“ You’re not feeling sick, are you ? Or blue ? Or 
worried about any thing ? ” 

“ Why, no,” Elias answered, “ I feel all righj;. 
Why do you ask ? ” 

“ Oh, I don’t know. I thought you were looking 
a little out-of-sorts. Likely enough, it was only an 


idea.” 


“ The truth is,” Elias presently volunteered, 
“ that, so far from feeling blue or low-spirited or 
any thing of that kind, I don’t seem to feel much of 
any thing at all. I’m sort of sluggish — dull — dead- 
and-alive. I’d give a good deal for a sensation, an 
excitement. I’ve been feeling this way pretfy much 
all the time since — for the last two weeks. Heavy, 
thick, as though my blood had stopped circulating. 
I wish you’d stick a pin into me.” 

Oh, you need a little amusement, a little fun, 
something to take you out of yourself. That’s all. 
Why don’t you go to the theater ?” 

No, thanks. I’m not fond of the theater. 
Besides, it's too hot.” 

Well, then, why don’t you make a call ? ” 

“ A call ! Pshaw ; is that your notion of excite- 
ment ? ” 

Well, it’s better than sitting at home, and 
moping, isn’t it ? ” 


i86 


THE YOKE OF THE THORAH 


“ And, anyhow, whom do I know to call on ? " 

“ Whom do you know ? Mercy upon me ! I 
could name fifty people, whom you not only know, 
but to whom you actually owe calls. It’s really 
abominable, the way you neglect, and always have 
neglected, your social duties. There’s no excuse 
for it. If — if you were an old recluse like me, it 
would be different.” 

I don’t see how. What if you were a young 
recluse, like me ? ” 

‘‘ Ah, but nobody has a right to be a young 
recluse. It is only when we get along in years, 
that we are entitled to withdraw from the world. 
Besides, it’s narrowing, it’s hardening. You need 
contact with other people, to broaden your mind, 
and keep your sympathies alive. If you avoid 
society while you’re young, the milk of human kind- 
ness will dry up in your bosom. You’ll get cold- 
blooded, selfish, indifferent.” Which amiable 
sentiments, falling from the lips of the rabbi, 
possessed a peculiar interest. Come,” he added, 
** run up-stairs, and put on your best suit, and go 
make a call.” 

Again I ask, whom on ? ” 

“ On — on anybody. I’ll tell you whom. Call on 
Mr. and Mrs. Koch.” 

The pronunciation of this name has been angli- 
cized into Coach. 

“ Which Koch ? A. Hamilton ? ” 

“ No, of course not. Washington I.” 

Oh, heavens ! I haven’t called on them these 


THE YOKE OF THE THORAH. 


187 


two years. I’d be afraid to show my face inside 
their door. They’d overwhelm me with reproaches.” 

‘^Well, what of that? You could stand it, I 
guess. They’re very nice people, the Kochs ; peo- 
ple whom it 'is worth while to be on good terms 
with — so warm-hearted^ and unpretentious, and yet 
with their hundreds of thousands behind them. 
There isn’t a smarter business man in New York 
city than Washington I. Koch, nor a more honest, 
nor a more open-handed. Look at that stained glass 
window he gave the congregation. And then, at 
the same time, he’s a man of ideas, a well-informed 
man ; and best of all, he’s a pious Jew.” 

“Well, I’ll tell you what I’ll do,” said Elias; 
“ I’ll call on them, if you’ll come along.” 

“ I ! Nonsense ! I called on them last Newv 
Year’s, and shall call again next. That’s the most 
that can be expected of me.” 

“ Well, I shouldn’t dare to go alone. If you’d 
come along, to keep me in countenance. I’d go. 
But alone — no, never.” 

There was an interval of silence. Suddenly the 
rabbi said, “Well, I declare, I’ll do it. I’ll do it, 
just to encourage you. There ; let’s go up-stairs 
and dress.” 

Pretty soon they left the house and sauntered 
westward arm-in-arm. Elias wore the Prince Albert 
coat that he had had made to be married in. 

It was a hot night, and it had all the qualities 
characteristic of a hot night in New York. The 
air was redolent of bursting ailanthus buds. Strains 


1 88 the yoke of the THOR ah, 

of music, more or less musical, were wafted from 
every point of the compass — from behind open 
windows, where people sang, or played pianos ; 
from the blazing depths of German concert saloons, 
where cracked-voiced orchestrions thundered dis- 
cord ; from the street corners, where itinerant 
bands halted, and blew themselves red in the face ; 
and from the indeterminate distance, where belated 
hand-organs wailed with mechanical melancholy. 
Third Avenue, into which thoroughfare Elias and 
the rabbi presently turned, was thronged by many 
sorts and conditions of men and women clad in 
light summer gear, and drifting onward in light, 
languid, summer fashion. It was intensely hot and 
oppressive ; and yet, somehow, it was productive 
of a certain unmistakable exhilaration. The sense 
one got of busy, teeming human life, was penetrat- 
ing and enlivening. 

They walked up to Eighteenth Street, where they 
took the Elevated Railway. At Fifty-ninth Street 
they descended, and thence proceeded to Lexing- 
ton Avenue. On Lexington Avenue, just above 
Sixty-first Street, the Kochs resided. Out on the 
stoops of most of the houses that they passed, the 
inmates were seated, resting, gossiping, trying to 
cool off — the ladies in white dresses, the gentlemen 
often in their shirt-sleeves. Here and there, some 
of them were partaking of refreshments ; beer, 
sandwiches, or cheese that savored of the Rhine. 
Here and there, some of them had fallen asleep. 
Here and there, a couple of young folks made sur- 


THE YOKE OF THE THOR AH. 189 

reptitious love, and, consumed by inner fires, forgot 
the outer heat. A pervasive odor, compounded of 
tobacco smoke and eau-de-cologne, assailed the 
nostrils. What snatches of conversation could be 
overheard, were either in German, or in English 
pronounced with a strong German accent. 

They rang the Kochs’ door-bell, and were ush- 
ered by a white-capped, flaxen-haired Mddchen 
into the drawing-room. 

The drawing-room was gorgeously and elabo- 
rately over-furnished. A bewildering arabesque, 
in gold, vermilion, and purple, decorated the ceil- 
ing. A dark, pseudo-aesthetic paper, bearing huge 
pink apricots embossed upon a ground of olive- 
green, covered the walls. The gas fixtures were of 
brass, wrought into an intricate design, and burn- 
ished to the highest possible brilliancy. The 
globes were alternately of ruby and emerald tinted 
glass. There were a good many pictures ; two or 
three family portraits in charcoal, and several bits 
of color. Of the latter, the one above the mantel- 
piece was the largest. A blaze of crimson and 
orange, deep-set in a massive gilt frame, it proved, 
on close inspection, to be a specimen of worsted- 
work ; and represented, as a device embroidered 
upon the margin testified, the Queen of Sheba 
playing before Solomon. The Queen had beauti- 
ful gambooge hair, and ultramarine eyes. Her 
harp was of ivory, with strings of silver ; her cos- 
tume, decollete, of indigo velvet, trimmed pro- 
fusely with handsome gold lace. Solomon — it is to 


1 90 THE YOKE OF THE THOR AH. 

be hoped, for his own sake, that Solomon in all his 
glory was not arrayed like this flamboyant effigy of 
himself. In a robe of gold brocade, lined with 
scarlet satin, and bearing upon his brow a richly 
bejeweled crown, that must certainly have weighed 
in the neighborhood of twenty pounds, the saga- 
cious monarch looked wretchedly hot and uncom- 
fortable. The rest of this apartment was in per- 
fect keeping. The chairs were of ebony, uphol- 
stered in stamped red velvet. 

Before long Mr. Koch came in. He wore alliga- 
tor-skin slippers, and a jacket of pongee silk. 
Between the fingers of his left hand, he carried a 
half-smoked cigar. He was a short, thick-set, 
pale-complexioned man, of forty, or thereabouts ; 
inclined to baldness^; with clear, light-gray eyes, 
and a straw-colored mustache waxed in the style 
of the Second Empire. He looked very clean, 
very alert, very good-tempered, and yet as though 
he could become as hard and as sharp as flint, if 
occasion demanded. He welcomed the rabbi with 
warm and deferential courtesy. Then, turning to 
Elias, in hearty, jovial, hail-fellow-well-met man- 
ner : Well, Mr. Bacharach, how goes it ? It’s a 

dog’s age since we’ve seen you, and no mistake. 
Have a cigar ? ” 

With one hand, he was subjecting Elias’s arm to 
a vigorous pumping. With the other, he offered 
him a tortoise-shell cigar-case. 

“ They’re genuine,” he remarked. ‘‘ I’ll warrant 
them. Imported by my brother-in-law for his pri- 


THE YOKE OF THE THOR AH. 19 1 

vate consumption. Cost you a quarter apiece 
straight, if you bought them in New York. Hoyo 
de Monterey s'" 

Elias selected one. Mr. Koch produced a silver 
match-box, extracted a wax match, scratched it, 
and held it while his guest got his cigar alight. 

“ Now,” said he, flirting the match flame into 
extinction, “ I’m going to ask you gentlemen to 
step down stairs to the basement. You’ll find the 
whole family down there, engaged in an impressive 
ceremony. They’re bidding good-night to the 
baby, whom my wife is about to put to bed.” 

In the basement, or dining-room (which, in the 
Koch establishment, pursuant to a common Jewish 
habit, was made to serve also as a general sitting- 
room), as many as seven or eight ladies and gentle- 
men, some seated, some standing, were gathered 
around the extension-table, upon which, in the 
approximate center of it, sprawled a fair, fat, two- 
year-old baby. The spectators were all smiling 
benevolently at him, addressing complimentary 
remarks to him, and exchanging complimentary 
notes about him among themselves. All the gentle- 
men were smoking. 

Lester, was you a good boy ? ” 

“ Mein Gott ! He kroes bigger every day.” 

Laistair, was you sleeby ? ” 

“Just look at that smile ! Ain’t it perfectly 
grand ? ” 

“ Laistair, haif you got a kiss for grainpa, before 
you go to bed ? ” 


192 THE YOKE OF THE THORAH. 

And so forth, and so forth : all of which Master 
Lester acknowledged with a vague grin, and a 
gutteral goo -goo-goo. 

But at the entrance of Mr. Koch, flanked by 
Elias and the rabbi, the whole company deserted 
Lester, and making a rush forward, surrounded the 
visitors. The rabbi, every body greeted with sub- 
dued respect, as was due to his sacerdotal quality. 
But over Elias, they gushed. 

Mrs. Koch, a thin, wiry little woman, with a 
prominent nose and a pleasant manner, piped in 
her shrill treble ; “ Oh, Meester Bacharach ! I 
didn’t naifer expaict to haif this honor. I ain’t 
seen you in this house for two — for three — years, 
already : dot time you called with your mamma.” 

Mrs. Koch’s mother, Mrs. Blum, a dumpy, rubi- 
cund old lady, with rather a sly, rollicking air about 
her, held his hand, and .swayed her head like an 
inverted pendulum from side to side, and smiled 
incredulously, and kept repeating, “Vail, vail, 
vail ! ” 

Then came sprightly Mr. Blum, short, corpulent, 
and florid, like his wife ; with a glossy bald pate, a 
drooping white mustache, and white mutton-chop 
whiskers, which left exposed a very red and shiny 
double chin. “ My kracious ? Was dot Elias Bach- 
arach ? Du lieber Gott ! How you haif krown, 
since laist time you was here ! ” He held Elias off 
at arm’s-length, and scrutinized him carefully. 
“ Excuse me,” he demanded all at once ; “ where 
you get dot coat mait? Washington, come over 


THE YOKE OF THE THOR AH. 193 

here, and look at Elias Bacharach’s coat. Dera 
must be Chairman goots, hey ? ” He plucked at the 
material of the unfortunate garment with his thumb 
and forefinger, and stroked it with the palm of his 
hand. “ Dot’s a goot coat,” he declared at last. 
“ What you pay for it ? ” He lifted up one of the 
skirts, and examined the lining. He was a veritable 
child of nature, this Mr. Blum ; and besides, he 
and his son-in-law constituted the firm of Blum & 
Koch, manufacturers and jobbers of ready-made 
clothing, Franklin Street, near Broadway. 

Elias and the rabbi paid their respects to the 
baby ; after which, Mrs. Koch picked him up and 
carried him off. 

“ Mr. Bacharach,” said Mr. Koch, grasping him 
by the elbow, “ don’t you know my brother-in-law, 
Mr. Sternberg ? — Guggenheim & Sternberg, whole- 
sale tobacco. My sister, Mrs. Sternberg ; my 
other sister, Mrs. Morgenthau ; my niece. Miss 
Tillie Morgenthau : Mr. Bacharach.” 

To each of these persons, in turn, Elias made 
his obeisance. 

Mrs. Morgenthau was in appearance a feminine 
duplicate of her brother ; short, thick-set, smart- 
looking, and with an air of having lots of go ; what 
is called a bouncing woman. 

“ Delighted to make your acquaintance,” she 
announced, in a loud, robust voice, and with 
emphasis, as though she wanted it understood that 
she wasn’t fooling, but meant exactly what she 
said. She shook his hand, giving it a virile grip. 


194 THE YOKE OF THE THOE AH. 

Miss Tillie Morgenthau was a young lady of 
eighteen or twenty, taller than her mother, exceed- 
ingly taper in the waist, and of an exceedingly 
fresh complexion ; decidedly a pretty girl, with 
plenty of waving black hair, a pair of bright blue 
eyes, a shapely red mouth, and a generous provision 
of tiny teeth, regular and of pearly whiteness. 

“ Oh, I suppose Mr. Bacharach don’t remember 
me,” she said, pouting playfully. She pronounced 
the personal pronoun /, like the interjection AK 

“Oh, on the contrary,” protested Elias, trying 
hard to remember whether he had ever seen her 
before. 

“ Now, Ah’m perfectly sure you don’t,” she 
insisted. “ But Ah’ll tell you. It was at the 
Advance Club, winter before last. Mr. Greenleaf 
introduced you to me — Charley Greenleaf. Do 
you belong to the Advance ? ” 

No, Elias said ; he was not a member of any 
club. 

“ Well, now,” called out Mr. Koch, to the com- 
pany generally, “ now that the baby’s gone to bed, 
I propose that we adjourn to the summer-house, 
and try to get cooled off.” 

An exodus at once began ; and presently they 
were all established, a picturesque, free-and-easy 
group, upon the stoop. Elias found himself at 
Miss Tillie’s side. 

“ Fearfully hot, isn’t it ? ” she observed. 

“ Very, indeed,” agreed Elias. 

“ It always is hot over here on Lexington Ave- 


THE YOKE OF THE THOR AH. 195 

nue — Jerusalem Avenue, I call it, on account of 
the number of Jews that live over here. Pretty 
good name for it, don’t you think so ? ” 

“ Quite good, yes,” he assented. 

“ But over where we live, it’s much cooler. 
Have a breeze there most all the time.” 

“ Ah, where is that ? ” 

** Beekman Place — clear down on the edge of 
the river. Number 57. Be happy to have you 
call on us there. We — mamma and I---we live with 
my uncle and aunt, the Sternbergs. It’s fear- 
fully out of the way, but it’s grand when you get 
there.” 

“ Yes, I’ve heard so,” Elias said. 

“ Musical, Mr. Bacharach ? ” she inquired. 

Well, I don’t know. I’m very fond of music.” 

“ Sing ? ” 

‘‘ No.” 

“ Play ? ” 

“ No, not any more. I used to, a little. But I 
gave it up.” 

“ Oh, my ! What a pity ! I think it’s perfectly 
elegant for a gentleman to play, don’t you ? But 
so few of them do. I think it’s simply awful.” 

“ I suppose you play, of course? ” 

“Oh, I should say so. Yes, indeed. Music’s my 
forte. I teach, too. Give lessons in Dr. Meyer’s 
conservatory, and take private pupils.” 

“ Won’t you play for us a little to-night, then ? ” 

“ Oh, gracious, no. It’s too hot. Ah’m about 
melted, as it is. Ain’t you ? ” 


196 THE YOKE OF THE THOR AH, 


** Well, it IS pretty warm,” Elias confessed, in fe 
reflective tone. 

At this juncture, the white-capped maid-servant 
began to circulate among the people, bearing a 
large tray, upon which reposed a pitcher, a couple 
of slim bottles, and half a score of cut-glass 
tumblers. 

“Beer or wine, Mr. Bacharach?” cried Mr. 
Koch, from above. “ Take your choice, and help 
yourself. They’re both gratis.” 

Elias poured out a glass of wine for Miss Tillie, 
and for himself a glass of beer. 

** Have a fresh cigar ? ” cried Mr. Koch. 

No, thank you. I haven’t finished this one,” 
returned Elias, ^ho had allowed the fire of his 
cigar to go out. 

‘*Well, if you ain't comfortable, speak up, that’s 
all,” his host concluded, and became silent. 

Oh, by the way, Meester Bacharach,” piped 
Mrs. Koch, who, having disposed of Lester, had 
rejoined the company, “ I hear dot we haif to con- 
kratulate you.” 

“ Indeed ? What about ? ” inquired Elias, un- 
suspiciously. 

“ We hear dot you was encaged. Was it true ? ” 

“ Oh ! ” he cried, taken aback. He colored up ; 
but the darkness hid his blushes. 

“ Vail ? ” pursued his good-natured tormentress. 

“ No — not at all — an entire mistake,” he stam- 
mered. 


THE YOKE OF THE THORAH. 197 

** Oh, dot's too baid. Ain’t you naifer going to 
get married ? ” 

** I don’t know. I guess not,” he said. 

At this,lhere was a universal murmur of dis- 
approval. 

“ Dot’s just the way with all the young fellers,now- 
a-days,” Mr. Blum exclaimed. “ They don’t none 
of them want to get married. It’s simply fearful ; 
hey, Dr. Gedaza ? When me and you was young 
men, we’d be ashamed to be single at his age, hey ? 
Why, a man ain’t a goot Jew, if he don’t get 
married. Might just as well be an American right 
out. If I was you, Elias Bacharach, I’d be afraid. 
The Lord will punish you. You better get married, 
or look out.” 

‘‘ Yes, that’s so.” 

“ There ain’t any doubt about that.” 

“ A young fellow ought to get married, and no 
mistake.” 

Remarks such as these went up from all direc- 
tions ; and poor Elias felt like the most miser- 
able of sinners. 

Tillie came to his rescue. Oh, let Mr. Bach- 
arach alone,” she cried. “ He ain’t dead yet. 
Give him time.” Then, turning to the victim, 
“ Don’t you mind them. They’ve got marriage on 
the brain. — How are you going to spend this sum- 
mer ? In the country ? ” 

Well I haven’t made any plans yet,” he an- 
swered ; have you ? ” 

“ Oh, yes — we’re going to the Catskills — Tan- 


19S THE YOKE OF THE THORAH 


nerstown — all of us. Ever been there ? It’s per- 
fectly ideal — the grandest place I ever did see. 
And such a lot of nice people ! I must know a hun- 
dred at the very least, who are going there this 
season — Advance Club people — friends of my 
uncle Wash. You said you didn’t belong to the 
Advance. Why don’t you join ? If I- were a man, 
wouldn’t I, though ! They give the most elegant 
balls that you can possibly imagine. Mamma and 
I go to all of them. Mamma took the prize at the 
last.” 

Prize for what ? ” asked Elias. 

“ Why, don’t you know ? They give a prize for 
the most original costume ; generally a book, or 
a work of art. Mamma’s was a magnificent picture 
album, with hinges and clasps of hammered silver 
— solid, not plated. The ladies all go in costume, and 
each one tries to wear the most curious and surpris- 
ing. Well, for instance, one lady represented a 
match. She had a dress just perfectly covered 
with burned matches, and matches in her hair, and 
for ear-rings, and every thing. Then, another lady, 
she went as a pack of cards ; and her dress was 
just one mass of patch -work, and each patch was 
a card. And then mamma — Well, guess. What do 
you suppose mamma represented ? ” 

“ I give it up.” 

Well, it was simply the grandest idea you can 
possibly imagine. It took the whole room by 
storm. Qracious me, how they did laugh and ap- 
plaud ! She went as a fireman.” 


THE YOKE OP THE THOR AH. 199 

** A — what ? " gasped Elias. 

Yes, a fireman. She had a red shirt with brass 
buttons, and a helmet, and a badge, and a hatchet, 
and a big black mustache, like a regular mem- 
ber of the department. Well, she did look just too 
funny for any thing. You ought to have been there. 
You'd have laughed to die. I had a side-ache for 
a week afterward. She and the match were rivals ; 
and there was quite a lot of betting as to who would 
come in first. But, as the judge who made the 
awards said, she did her duty, and extinguished the 
match. That was pretty good, wasn’t it ? She got 
the prize, and the match got an honorable mention.” 

“ And your own costume ? ” Elias questioned. 
** What was that like ? ” 

“ Oh, I went in an ordinary white dress. Mamma 
thought I was too young to take a character. But 
next fall — Promise you won’t tell. You mustn’t 
breathe a word of it, will you ? Next fall, I'm 
going as an ear of corn.” 

“ Why,” exclaimed Elias, “ how can that be 
managed ? ” 

“Oh, we’ve got it all designed ; and my Uncle 
Wash, he’s having some stuff woven on purpose, to 
represent the I^ernels. It’s right in his line, you 
know. You wait till you see it. It will be simply 
the most ideal thing you can possibly imagine. But 
please don’t mention it. Some one else might do it 
first, and get in ahead of me, if you did.” 

“You may rely upon me,” Elias vowed. “ I’lJ 
be as secret as the grave.” 


200 


THE YOKE OF THE THORAH, 


The rabbi now rose, and began to make his 
adieux. Elias followed his example. 

“You two gentlemen come up here to dinner 
next Sunday afternoon, will you ? ” demanded Mr. 
Koch. 

Before Elias had had a chance to decline, if he 
had been disposed to do so, the rabbi replied, “We 
will, with pleasure. Thank you.” 

On the way home, “Well,” the rabbi asked, 
“ did you have a good time ? ” 

“ Oh, fair,” returned Elias. “ Queer set, aren’t 
they?” 

“ Well, they have certain mannerisms, yes. But 
you mustn’t mind a superficial thing like that. 
They talk too loud, and their grammar isn’t of the 
choicest ; but they’re thoroughly kind-hearted and 
well-meaning ; and they’re not wanting in brains, 
either, though they may be a trifle unpolished. 
Mr. Koch himself is a remarkably intelligent man, 
a man of ideas. You get to talking to him some- 
time, and you’ll find out. How did you like that 
little Miss Morgenthau ? ” 

“ Oh, she’s quite amusing. Not a bad little 
thing. Very raw and untamed, but good-natured 
enough, I dare say.” 

“ Her father, Reuben Morgenthau, was a pro- 
fessional musician — one of the best pianists I ever 
heard ; and she is said to have inherited his talent. 
He was lost at sea when she was a baby. Good- 
looking girl, isn’t she ? I suppose Washington I. 
Koch will make ber a handsome settlement, when 


THE YOKE OF THE THORAH. 


201 


she gets married. Yes, I suppose he’ll do some- 
thing very handsome, indeed.” 


XVI. 

T he sluggishness, the dull, dead-and-alive feel- 
ing, of which Elias had complained to his 
uncle, seemed to be tightening its hold upon him. 
From morning to-night, each day, he went about in 
a state of profound apathy. His customary occu- 
pations had lost their power to interest him. His 
painting he pursued listlessly, getting no pleasure 
from it, and producing wretched stuff. He would 
sit at his studio window for hours at a stretch, 
moping ; trying to think of something to do that 
would cause him a little sensation ; wondering 
what the matter with himself could be ; pitying 
himself from the bottom of his heart. He craved 
excitement as the toper craves his grog. But there 
were grog-shops on every corner ; he knew of no 
excitement-shop. The entire emotional side of his 
nature appeared to have become congealed and un- 
susceptible. Even his five bodily senses had lost 
their edge. His food, unless he deluged it with 
salt and pepper, was vapid, flavorless. The cold 
water with which he bathed in the morning, felt 
lukewarm to his skin. Whatsoever his eye looked 
upon, straightway forfeited all its beauty, all its 
suggestiveness. He fancied he would enjoy a 


202 


THE YOKE OF THE THORAH. 


horse-whipping. It would stir him up, and start 
his blood to circulating. Already his memory of 
Christine had begun to grow dim and shadowy, 
like the memory of a person known only in a 
dream. His whole acquaintance with her, from 
first to last, as he reviewed it, seemed unreal and 
dream-like. As a matter of curiosity, he tried now 
and then to call up her face and figure ; with none 
but the vaguest, meagerest results. She had gone 
quite out of his life, and was fading rapidly quite 
out of his thought. When Sunday came, and the 
rabbi reminded him of their engagement to dine at 
the Kochs’, he experienced something almost like a 
distinct and positive pleasure. These people, at 
least, with their high-pitched voices and peculiar 
manners, would afford him a small measure of 
amusement. He hoped Miss Tillie would be there. 
Her aggressive crudity, which, a few weeks ago, 
would have cut him like a knife, would now simply 
have the effect of an agreeable irritant. 

His hope in this respect was not disappointed. 
The dinner party consisted of precisely the same 
lot of people whom he had met the other evening, 
without an addition or a subtraction. When he 
and the rabbi arrived, they were all assembled in 
the parlor, forming the circumference of a circle, 
of which Lester, sprawling upon the carpet, and 
smiling a smile of beatific inanition, was the center. 
They were in ecstasies of admiration, which, evi- 
dently, they expected the new-comers to share. 
It was a monstrously fat baby, without any feat- 


THE YOKE OF THE THORAH. 203 

ures to speak of ; and it had a horrid red eruption 
all over one side of its face. Yet, very gravely, 
Mr. Koch asked, “ Isn’t that the handsomest baby 
you ever saw, Mr. Bacharach ? Wouldn't you like 
to paint his portrait ? ” And Elias felt constrained 
to reply that it was, and that he would. 

By and by his nurse came, and bore Master Les- 
ter away. 

Mr. Blum sidled up, and taking Elias by the 
arm, remarked, “You was an artist-painter, Mr. 
Bacharach. Come ; I show you a work of art.” 

He led his victim to the worsted-work enormity 
above the mantel-piece. 

“ Hey ? What you think of dot ? ” he in- 
quired, with a connoisseurish smile. “ I give dot to 
my daughter for a birthday present. Dot’s im- 
mense, hey ? I had it mait to order. Dot coast 
me a heap of money. How much you think dot 
coast ? ” 

Elias had no idea. A great deal, he supposed. 

“ Vail, sir, dot coast me two hundred and fifty 
dollars, cash down. But it’s worth it. I don’t 
consider no money wasted, dot’s spent for a work 
of art.” 

Suddenly a look of intense vacancy spread over 
Mr. Blum’s countenance ; which was as suddenly 
followed by one of liveliest interest. Bringing his 
forefinger with a swoop down upon Elias’s cravat- 
pin — a Roman coin, set in a ring of gold — “ Ex- 
cuse me,” he demanded eagerly, “ is dot a genuine 
aintique ? ” 


204 the yoke of the thorah. 

‘‘I don’t know, I'm sure. I dare say not,” Elias 
answered, smothering his impulse to laugh. 

Where you bought it ? ” 

Elias told him. 

What you pay for it ? ” 

Elias told him. 

<‘0h, vail, dot must be an imitation. You 
couldn’t get no genuine aintique for a price like 
dot.” 

Pretty soon a servant appeared, and announced 
that dinner was ready. 

‘‘Take partners,” Mr. Koch called out. 

They went down to the dining-room, and dis- 
tributed themselves about the table in accordance 
with the instructions, verbal and gestural, issued 
by Mrs. Koch. Elias sat between Miss Tillie and 
• Mrs. Blum. 

The men covered their heads with their hand- 
kerchiefs. There was an instant of silence. Mr. 
Koch glanced over at the rabbi, nodding signifi- 
cantly ; whereupon, in his best voice, the rabbi in- 
toned a grace. The men joined in the amen, 
which they pronounced omen. 

The dinner began with a cocktail, and wound up 
with a liqueur. There were ten courses, and five 
kinds of wine. After the French, the Jews are the 
best cooks in the world ; and the present repast 
fully sustained their reputation. The banqueters 
sat down at one o’clock. At a quarter to five the 
gentlemen lit their cigars. It was not until six 
o’clock that the table was finally deserted. 


THE YOKE OP THE THORAH. 205 

During the soup not a word was spoken. Every* 
body devoted himself religiously to his spoon. At 
last, however, leaning back in his chair, heaving a 
long-drawn sigh, and wiping the tears of enjoy- 
ment from his eyes, Mr. Blum exclaimed fervently : 
“ Ach ! Dot was a splendid soup ! ” And his 
spouse wagged her jolly old head approvingly at 
him, from across the table, and gurgled : “ Du 
lieber Gott ! ” 

This was the signal for a general loosening of 
tongues. A very loud and animated conversation 
at once broke forth from all directions. It was 
carried on, for the most part, in something like 
English ; but every now and then it betrayed a 
tendency to lapse into German. 

“ Vail,” announced Mr. Blum, with a patheti- 
cally reflective air, “ when I look around this table, 
and see all these smiling faces, and smell dot cook- 
ing, and drink dot wine — my Gott ! — dot reminds 
me of the day I lainded at the Baittery, forty-five 
years ago, with just exactly six dollars in my 
pocket. I didn’t much think then that I’d be here 
to-day. Hey, Rebecca ? ” 

“ Ach, Gott is goot,” Mrs. Blum responded, 
lifting her hand and casting her eyes toward the 
ceiling. 

“Oh, papa,” murmured Mrs. Koch, with pro- 
found emotion, “ and you didn’t think you’d be a 
graindpa, neither, with such a loafly little graind- 
son, did you ? ” 

“ I didn’t think I’d be much of any thing at all, 


2o6 the yoke of the thorah. 

dot’s a faict. I didn’t haif no prospects, and I 
didn’t haif no friends. If it hadn’t been for my 
religion, I don’t know what I done. I guess I 
commit suicide. But I was a good Jew, and I 
knew the Lord would help me. Then I got mar- 
ried, and dot brought me goot luck. When me and 
Rebecca got married, I was earning just exactly 
five dollars a week, as a journeyman tailor. There’s 
an exaimple for you, Elias Bacharach.” 

“ Your success has been very remarkable,” ob- 
served the rabbi. 

“ My success — what you think my success has 
been due to, Elias Bacharach ? ” 

“ Oh, to business wisdom — to what they call 
genius, I suppose.” 

“ No, sir — no, siree. Nodings of the kind. I 
owe my success to three things : to my God, my 
wife, and my industry. I ain’t no smarter than 
any other man. But all my life I been industrious; 
and the Lord has given me good health ; and my 
wife has taken care of my earnings. All my life I 
go to work at six or seven o’clock every morning ; 
and I don’t never leave my work till it can spare 
me. You aisk my son-in-law. He tell you that I 
get down-town every morning at seven o’clock ; 
and I don’t go home in the busy season till ten or 
eleven at night ; and I’m sixty-five years old. 
Dot’s what mait my success. Hey, Rebecca ? ” 

“ Ach, Gott ! ” cried Mrs. Blum. There was a 
frog in her voice, and her merry little eyes were 
dim with tears. She turned to Elias, and whis- 


THE YOKE OF THE THORAH. 207 

pered : “ Oh, he’s such a goot man, that man of 
mine ! ” 

“ Elias Bacharach,” pursued Mr. Blum, “ you 
see dot lady there, next to you — my wife ? Vail, 
she’s pretty near as old as I am, and maybe you 
don’t think she’s very hainsome. But I tell you 
this. She’s just exactly as hainsome in my eyes 
to-day, as she was on the day when we got mar- 
ried ; and that’s forty years ago already.” 

Mrs. Blum was blushing now, peony red ; and she 
cried out, “ Oh, go ’vay ! Shut up ! ” And all 
around the table a laugh went, at the fond old 
couple’s expense. 

When sobriety was restored, “ I saw by the 
papers,” said the rabbi, “that the manufacturers of 
clothing have been having trouble with their work- 
men, lately — strikes, and that sort of thing. How 
have you got along with yours ? ” 

“ Oh, we — we got along maiknificent,” Mr. Blum 
replied. “You see my son-in-law over there ? He 
mainage the whole affair. You aisk him.” 

“ Yes, sir,” said Mr. Koch — when Mr. Koch 
spoke, he raised his voice, and assumed a declam- 
atory style, as though in fancy he were addressing 
a public meeting — “ Yes, sir, when I saw that other 
houses were having trouble, I made up my mind to 
take the bull by the horns. So I called all our men 
together, and I talked to them up and down. I 
gave it to them straight. * Look at here, boys,’ 
said I, ‘ I want you to understand that the firm of 
Blum & Koch are not merely your employers ; 


2o8 the yoke of the thorah. 

they’re your friends. They’re the best friends 
you’ve got, and don’t you forget it. They mean 
to deal fairly and squarely with you in every thing, 
and they want to be dealt with the same way by 
you. You have rights, and we mean to recognize 
and protect your rights. You have interests, and 
we mean to make your interests our interests. 
And unless I’m hugely mistaken, we’ve always 
done it. Well, now, look at here. If you men ain’t 
contented ; if you think you’ve got any grievances ; 
or if there’s any demands you want to make. I’ll 
tell you what you do. Don’t you come to us as 
enemies, or strikers ; but you just come right up 
like one friend to another, and you tell us in a 
friendly way what you want ; and I promise you 
that every thing you ask will be considered, and 
every thing that’s even fair-to-middling reasonable, 
will be done for you ? ’ That’s what I said to the 
men ; and it worked like magic. They gave three 
cheers for Blum & Koch ; and two or three days 
later they sent a committee with a statement of 
their claims. Well, sir, the granting of those 
claims involved a net loss of two per cent, annually 
on our profits ; but we talked it over, and we made 
up our minds that the harm it would do us, 
wouldn’t equal the good it would do the men ; and 
so we gave in gracefully. There was one point, 
though, on which we held off. But we told them 
our reasons for holding off on that ; and after they 
thought it over, they came and confessed that we 
were in the right.” 


THE YOKE OF THE THORAH. 209 

Would it be indiscreet to ask what that point 
was ? ” the rabbi ventured. 

Not at all. It was this. We got a man in our 
employ — one of our best hands — an Irishman of the 
name of O’Day — who’s been with us ever since we 
started manufacturing. You know, when we first 
went into business, we simply jobbed. We didn’t 
'begin to manufacture till ’76. Well, that man, 
O’Day, a year or two ago, he contracted a kind of 
a nervous disease, which makes it impossible for 
him to do his work when the other workmen are 
around. He can work perfectly well alone ; but in 
the room with the others, he gets excited, and loses 
his head, and can’t take a stitch. At the same 
time, he’s got a family to support. So we’ve given 
him a machine, and we allow him to do his work 
in his own home. Well, sir, the men, they’re dead 
set against tenement-house labor ; and they wanted 
us to discharge O’Day. We wouldn’t. It struck 
us as such a dirty mean thing to do, that we made 
up our minds the Lord would punish us, if we did 
it. We made up our minds that if we did that, 
we’d deserve to have bad luck right along. So we 
told the men we wouldn't. We told them that 
we’d rather shut down and go out of the trade, 
than discharge O’Day — which was the fact. We 
said we’d always been a prosperous house ; and 
that we believed we owed our prosperity chiefly to 
the fact that we’d never done any thing to offend 
the Lord. We said that right out. And we said 
also that if any other man in our employ should 


210 the yoke of the THOR ah. 

get in the same box, we’d treat him the same way. 
Well, as I say, the men, they thought it over, and 
they concluded that we were in the right.” 

“ Yes, sir,” added Mr. Blum, “ we believe in 
treating our hands like feller-beings. I was a 
hand myself, already. Dot’s a great advaintage. 
We don’t go on the American plan, and treat them 
like machines.” 

“ Now, don’t you get started on that subject,” 
cried Mr. Koch. “ There’s nothing he’s so preju- 
diced about, as every thing American. I'm an 
American. We’re all Americans. The Americans 
are the grandest people on the face of the earth.” 

“ I don’t see how you make dot out,” retorted 
Mr. Blum. 

“ Well, I’ll tell you how I make it out. I make 
it out this way. But first, you just hold on. Let’s 
see hoyj you make it out. What do you judge the 
Americans from ? What do you know about them, 
anyhow ? Why, you meet a few of them down- 
town ; and you’re prejudiced against them, to begin 
with, because they’re Christians ;^and they’re prej- 
udiced against you, because you’re a Jew ; and you 
and they don’t understand each other, and don’t 
get on together ; and the consequence is, your 
mutual prejudices are simply intensified. Well, 
now, that ain’t a fair way to judge a people. I’ll 
leave it to Dr. Gedaza if it is. The right way is, 
not to take individuals, but to take public senti- 
ment. Public sentiment, that is to say, the feeling 
of the people in general on questions of importance 


THE YOKE OF THE THORAH. 


211 


— that’s the real index of a people’s character. 
And there ain’t another country irrthe world, where 
public sentiment is so high as it is right here in the 
United States of America.” 

“ In what respects ? ” questioned the rabbi. 

Mrs. Koch put in : “ You needn’t scream so, 
Washington. We ain’t none of us daif.” But her 
husband didn’t hear her. 

“ In what respects ? ” he shouted, swelling with 
emotion. “Why, in — in every respect — on every 
question of honor and decency and morality. Here’s 
a simple example. You go to Europe — you go to 
London, Berlin, Paris — I don't care which — and 
you notice the way the drivers beat their horses in 
the public streets ; and nobody thinks any thing of 
it, nor dreams of interfering. If they tried to do it 
here, in New York, they’d be mobbed in no time. 
Well, that may seem a trifle ; but it ain't a trifle. 
No, sir. For it points to a radical defect in the 
European character, and to a positive virtue in the 
American. It’s the sense of fair play — that’s what 
it is. Don’t abuse a creature, simply because he’s 
defenseless and you’ve got the upper hand. Do 
you see ? Then take the American way of treating 
women. You let a respectable young girl, pro- 
vided she’s good-looking — you let Tillie, there — 
go out alone in Paris or Berlin, and when she gets 
back, you ask her whether she’s been stared at, or 
insulted. But you let her go out here. Why, she 
could travel alone from New York to San Francisco, 
and not run a risk. Then take morality and de- 


212 


THE YOKE OF THE THORAH. 


cency. And take the American way of doing busi- 
ness — the big, generous scale on which every thing 
is done, and the sense of honor among business 
men. They’re sharp and close, I admit, but they 
mean what they say every time. I tell you, it’s 
grand, it’s beautiful ; it does me good every time I 
think of it. I go to Europe every two or three 
years on business ; and I get a chance of compar- 
ing. It makes me sick, the depravity, the corrup- 
tion, and the stinginess, you meet everywhere over 
there.” 

The orator sank back in his chair, panting, and 
absent-mindedly mopped his brow with his napkin. 

Vail, dot’s pretty good,” cried Mr. Blum, with 
cutting irony, “ and what you say of them big 
American bank swindlers, hey ? They do things 
on a generous scale, don’t they ? ” 

^‘That’s no argument,” replied his son-in-law. 
“That don’t signify any thing. If you want to 
argue, you just answer me tl^is. If you think Amer-r 
ica’s such a poor sort of a place, what did you comt 
here for, any way ? ” 

“ Oh, I came because I didn’t have no money ; 
and I got an idea the streets here was paved with 
gold.” 

“Well, now that you’ve got money, and now 
that you know the streets here ain’t paved with 
gold, why don’t you go back ? ” 

“ Oh, dot — dot is another question.” 

“ Well, I’ll tell you why. Because you like it 
here. Because, down deep, you think it's the finest 


THE YOKE OF THE THORAH, 


213 


country in the world. You talk against it, for the 
love of talking. If you went to Europe, you'd be 
as homesick as anybody.” 

“ Ain’t my uncle a splendid conversationalist ? ” 
Tillie whispered to Elias. 

“ Washington,” said his father-in-law, solemnly, 
“you got a head on you like Daniel Webster’s.” 

“Oh, papa!” cried Mrs. Koch. “You make 
me die with laifing.” 

Mrs. Blum was rocking from side to side in her 
chair, and murmuring, “ Gott ! Gott ! Gott ! ” 

For a while, again, there was silence ; which, 
again, by and by, Mr. Blum was the first to break. 

“ Sarah,” he declared, addressing his daughter, 
“ them pickles is simply graind.” 

“ I opened a new jar to-day, papa,” Mrs. Koch 
returned. 

“ Elias Bacharach,” the old gentleman con- 
tinued, “ what think of them pickles ?” 

“ They’re delicious,” Elias said. 

“Vail, sir, my daughter, she make them herself. 
I think she make the best pickles going.” 

“Oh, papa,” protested Mrs. Koch, blushing. 
“ How can you say dot, when Aintoinette Morgen- 
thau is seated right next to you ? Her pickles beat 
mine all hollow.” 

“ No,” cried Mrs. Morgenthau, magnanimously ; 
“ he’s right. You’re the boss.” 

“ Vail,” pursued Mr. Blum, judicially, “ there is 
a difference. Aintoinette’s pickles is splendid — 
dot’s a faict. Maybe their flavor is just exactly as 


214 THE YOKE OF THE THOR AH. 

good as yours. But yours is crisper. My Gott ! 
when I put one of your pickles in my mouth, dot 
makes me feel said. I never taste no pickles so crisp 
as them, since I was a little boy in Chairmany, and 
ate my mamma's. Her pickles — oh, they was 
loafly, they was maiknificent.” 

“ Ach, papa ! You got so much zendimend ! " his 
daughter exclaimed, with deep sympathy. 

“You ought to taste my mamma’s pickles," 
Tillie whispered to Elias. “ Of course, Mr. Blum 
is prejudiced in favor of his daughter’s." 

“Been to the theater lately, Mr. Bacharach?" 
Mr. Koch called out. 

“ No," said Elias, little foreseeing the effect of 
his announcement ; “ I don’t go to the theater 
much. I’m not very fond of it." 

Immediately, from all directions, there was an 
outburst of astonishment and indignation ; for in 
New York the theater has no patrons more ardent 
or devoted than the- German Jews. 

“ Oh, Mr. Bacharach ! ’’ 

“ How can you say such a thing ? " 

“ Gott in Himmel ! ’’ 

“ Oh, you don’t mean it ! " 

“ Vail, if I aifer ! " 

And so forth, till the poor fellow was blushing 
to the roots of his hair, and would have liked to 
bite his tongue out. Mr. Koch took up the cud- 
gels in his behalf. 

“ Oh, come," he shouted, “ don’t make Mr. 
Bacharach feel as though he’d brought the Tower 


THE YOKE OF THE THORAH. 


215 


of Babel crashing around his ears. He’s got a right 
to his opinion, hasn't he ? I understand the way he 
feels. In fact, I feel about the same way, myself. 
I go to the theater a good deal, I don’t deny ; but 
that’s because there’s nothing else to do. When I 
get home at night I’m fagged out, and I want a 
little amusement, and I take my wife and go to the 
theater. But all the same, I’m free to say that the 
theaters here in this town are about as poor as they 
can make them, and no mistake. Melodrama and 
burlesque — that’s what they give you. Good, 
honest pictures of life — where’ll you find them, I’d 
like to know ? Now and then you get a big star— 
Salvini or Booth ; now and then you get an old 
English comedy ; but it’s the average that I’m 
talking about, and I defy any man to say any 
thing in defense of that. You folks, you go to the 
theater, the same as I do, because you haven’t got 
any thing else to do. But an intellectual young 
fellow like Mr. Bacharach, he don’t need any out- 
side amusements of that sort. He’d rather stay 
home, and think ; wouldn’t you, Mr. Bacharach ? ” 

“ Washington,” said Mr. Blum, “ you’re talking 
about American theayters. But what you got 
against the Chairman theayter — the Thalia — hey ? ” 
Oh, you go ’way. You want to get back to 
our old quarrel,” Mr. Koch retorted. “ No, 
thanks.” 

“ Sarah,” said her father, abruptly, “ there’s one 
of your adopted children — my grainchild, conse- 
quently,” he added, winking humorously at Elias. 


2i6 


THE YOKE OF THE THORAH. 


He pointed toward the open window, at which 
appeared the red and weather-beaten visage of an 
elderly tramp. The tramp was peering in through 
the iron bars, and muttering an inarticulate, plaint- 
ive prayer — presumably for “ cold victuals.” Mrs. 
Koch glanced over her shoulders at him, and then, 
addressing a hasty “ Excuse me,” to the company, 
got up and left the room. 

“ She’s got about twenty of them fellers,” Mr. 
Blum informed Elias, “ who she tries to be a mud- 
der for. She feeds them, and clothes them, and 
gives them free lectures. They’re coming all the 
time. We don’t never sit down to a meal, but one 
of them sticks his head in the winder. Now, you 
just listen.” 

Out in the area, Mrs. Koch’s high-pitched 
voice could be heard earnestly speaking as fol- 
lows : 

Oh, you baid man ! You told me you wouldn’t 
touch another drop of liquor this week ! And now 
I see you been indoxicated ! You smell perfectly 
outracheous ; and dot loafly coat I give you, all 
spoiled ! I got a great mind to send you away, and 
naifer do nothing for you any more.” 

A dull reverberation, like the far-distant roll of 
muffled drums, testified that the tramp was plead- 
ing in his defense. After which, Mrs. Koch went 
on : “ Vail, you promise you don’t drink another 
glaiss of liquor till next Sunday, hey ? You cross 
your heart, and promise ? All right. Then, you 
take this. And bright and early, to-morrow morn- 


THE YOKE OF THE THORAH. 217 

ing, you come around here, and I give you a job. 
I want my cellar to be cleaned out." 

“ She makes them fellers say they’ll come around 
to-morrow morning, every time she sees them ; but 
they don’t never come,’’ Mr. Blum announced. 
“ She’s keeping dot cellar dirty just on purpose, so 
dot some time she can give the chop to one of them 
good-for-nodings. I guess I clean it out myself, 
if dot goes on much longer. — Hey ! Hold on, 
there ! ’’ he cried, with sudden excitement. He 
ran to the window ; stopped the tramp, who was in 
process of departure ; and deposited a twenty-five- 
cent silver piece in his grimy palm. Returning to 
his seat, he appeared quite oblivious to the laughter 
at his expense, in which the others were indulging. 

“You want to kill that old fellow, don’t you?’’ 
Mr. Koch demanded. “ Giving him a quarter ! 
Why, it will bring on an attack of delirium tre- 
mens.’’ 

“ Dot’s all right," Mr. Blum replied. “ I know 
how it is myself. I was pretty near to being a 
traimp myself, one time, already. Hey, Rebecca ? " 

“ Du bist ein Engel — ja wohl ! — ein himmlischer, 
wunderschoener Engel ! ’’ cried his wife, her broad 
face beaming like a harvest moon. Then she whis- 
pered to Elias, “ Ach ! He is so loafly, dot Meester 
Blum ! "and kept swaying her head, and smiling to 
herself, for the next ten minutes. 

With] the coffee, the gentlemen lighted their 
cigars, and, leaving their respective places, gathered 
in a knot at one end of the table, where they began 


2i8 the yoke of the THOR AH. 

vociferously to exchange their views upon the state of 
trade. The ladies assembled at the other end, and 
discoursed of topics maternal and domestic. Les- 
ter was produced, and trotted upon his grand- 
mother’s lap, while his “ points ” were mooted and 
admired for the thousandth time. Finally, the men 
again covered their heads ; and the rabbi chanted 
his grace after meat. Then Mr. Koch proposed 
that the company should ascend to the parlor, and 
listen to some music. In the parlor the gentle- 
men lighted fresh cigars ; and Miss Tillie seated 
herself at the piano. 

She played the second Hungarian Rhapsody, 
and the Allegro Appassionato from the Moonlight 
Sonata, and Chopin’s Funeral March, and she 
played them all marvelously well. Her technic was 
exact and brilliant ; her feeling was ardent, intelli- 
gent and refined. For an hour she flooded the 
room with bewitching harmonies, and held every 
heart there spellbound. Elias, whose chief senti- 
ment for her, a short while ago, had been one of 
half contemptuous amusement, felt an emotion very 
like genuine respect begin to stir within his bosom. 
It astonished him, it awed him a little, to find that 
a young lady who, in the commoner relations of 
life, appeared so crude and so prosaic, was pos- 
sessed of such superb and consummate genius for 
a noble art. “ There must be something in her, 
after all,” he thought. She, perhaps, divined what 
was going on in his mind ; for, when he had finished 
complimenting her upon her performance, she said, 


THE YOKE OF THE THORAH. 


219 


in a subdued voice, and with a gentler air than her 
usual one, I know, Mr. Bacharach, that I’m not 
very much in conversation ; but when I sit down at 
the piano, it seems as though somehow I was 
another girl, and a great deal nicer one ; and I feel 
things that I don’t ever feel anywhere else. I 
guess maybe music’s my natural method of ex- 
pression.” 

“ Now, Mr. Bacharach,” Mr. Koch said, when 
Elias and the rabbi were taking their leave, “ don’t 
treat us like strangers. Drop in on us any evening, 
or to dinner any Sunday afternoon. We’ll always 
be glad to see you.” 

“ Yes ; come over often,” added Mrs. Koch. 
“ Come just exactly as if you was to home.” 


XVII. 

E lias had enjoyed his dinner at the Kochs* 
very much. He had been greatly amused by 
it ; but he had derived from it, besides, a pleasure 
that was deeper than mere amusement — the 
pleasure, namely, which comes of contact with 
people whom we feel to be thoroughly good and 
wholesome. 

“ They, with their strident voices, and vulgar 
manners, and untutored ways of thinking, are the 
sort of Jews that Gentiles judge the race by,” he re- 
flected. “ It is a comfort to know that underneath 


THE YOKE OE rtlE T HO RAH. 

all their superficial roughness and unrefinement, 
the core is sound and sweet." 

It was with a sense of agreeable anticipation that, 
on the following Thursday evening, he started out 
to pay his digestion visit. 

The maid-servant showed him into the parlor, 
and went off to announce him. Returning a mo- 
ment later, she asked him to step down-stairs to 
the basement. There he was very cordially wel- 
comed ; and Mr. Koch explained, “ I thought 
you’d rather join us down here, than have us come 
up to the show-room. (That’s my nick-name for 
the parlor ; pretty good, hey ?) Down here it’s 
more comfortable and homey.’’ 

Mr. and Mrs. Blum smiled and swayed their 
heads at him ; and Mrs. Koch, clasping Lester to 
her bosom with one hand, offered him the other. 

“ We don’t want to make company of you, Mr. 
Bacharach,’’ Mr. Koch went on ; “ and so, after 
my wife has put Lester to bed, you must come 
around with us to Winkum’s. We’re going to 
meet my brother-in-law and my sisters around 
there." 

‘‘ I shall be very happy," Elias responded. “ But 
Winkum’s — what is it ? and where ? " 

“Oh, Winkum’s is Terrace Garden. I always 
call it Winkum’s, because a man named Winkum 
kept it when I first began to go there, years ago ; 
and I’ve never got used to calling it by its new 
name. Force of habit." 

Mrs. Koch passed Lester around, and everybody 


THE YOKE OF THE THOR AH, 211 

kissed him good-night. Then she carried him from 
the room. 

“ Have a cigar ? ” asked Mr. Koch. “ They’re 
genuine — Hoyo de MoiitereysT 

Elias took a cigar. 

Mr. and Mrs. Blum were whispering together, on 
the sofa, over in the corner. He appeared to be 
urging her to do something, which she, with blushes 
and modest smiles, was protesting against. 

“ Come," cried Mr. Koch ; “ it ain’t polite to 
whisper in company. What you people conspir- 
ing about ? " 

“ I want her," Mr. Blum answered, ** to offer 
Elias Bacharach some of her cheese-cake ; and 
she’s too baishful. Elias Bacharach, my wife every 
now and then, she make us a cheese-cake. You 
never taste any thing like it. It’s simply elegant. 
Vail, she make us one to-day ; and I want her to 
give you a bite of it, just to show what she can do. 
But she — she’s just exactly as baishful as she was 
the day we got married ; and that’s forty years 
ago, already." 

“ Oh, Mrs. Blum," Elias pleaded, ^‘I shall really 
feel very much offended, if you don't let me taste 
it. There’s nothing in the world I like so well as 
cheese-cake. Please don’t disappoint me." 

Blushing and giggling, the old lady got up, and 
said, Ach, Gott ! All right," and waddled from 
the room. Presently she waddled back, and placed 
an enormous slice of cheese-cake, together with 
knife, fork, and napkin, upon the table. Then she 


222 


THE YOKE OF THE THORAH, 


sat down, and crossed her hands upon her stomach, 
and watched Elias as he ate. Between his mouth- 
fuls, he kept uttering ejaculations of delight and 
wonder : marvelous ! delicious ! never tasted any 
thing equal to it in all my life ! etc. She kept 
swaying her head and smiling. At the end, he 
vowed that the cheese-cake was a triumph of art, 
and confessed that antecedently he would not have 
believed such excellence attainable. Her husband 
demanded, “ Didn’t I tell you so ? ” The old lady 
herself was overcome, and could only gurgle, 
“ Gott ! Du lieber, lieber Gott ! " 

By and by Mrs. Koch reappeared ; and her hus- 
band called out, “ Well, let’s start.” 

At Terrace Garden they found Mr. and Mrs. 
Sternberg and Mrs. Morgenthau seated at a round 
table under an ailanthus tree. 

“ Why, where’s Tillie ? ” cried Mr. Koch. 

“ Oh, she had to stay at home to work,” her 
mother answered. “ Preparing for some lessons 
she has to give to-morrow.” 

The electric-lamps flared and sizzled. The 
band played tunes from comic operas. There were 
many people present, seated at similar tables, under 
similar trees, eating, drinking, smoking, chatting, 
listening to the music. Their countenances were 
mostly of the Semitic type. Every now and then a 
new party entered,' from the caf6 adjoining : an 
old gentleman and lady, a middle-aged gentleman 
and lady, and a troop of young folks of both sexes : 
three generations. Your Jew loves to take his 


THE YOKE OF THE THOR AH. 


223 


pleasure with his family to share it. His boon com- 
panions are, as a rule, his father and mother, his 
wife and children. The waiters dashed like mete- 
ors hither and thither. One of them stopped before 
the table of our friends ; and Mr. Koch, having 
determined the sentiment of the meeting, ordered 
“ beers all around.” 

“Vail,” observed Mr. Blum, “to drink dot beer, 
and hear dot music, and breathe dot fresh air, dot's 
what I call solid comfort — hey ? ” 

“Yes ; and to see the people,” added Mr. Koch. 
“ I don’t know as there’s any thing that I enjoy 
better than I do to sit around here of a summer 
night, and watch the people — see them arrive in 
squads, and then notice their .ways of enjoying 
themselves after they’ve got settled. It’s quite a 
study ; and every now and then you catch a 
glimpse into a regular romance. Now, Mr. Bach- 
arach, you just take in that table over there. Can’t 
you imagine how that young fellow’s heart is 
thumping, as he whispers to her in that energetic 
manner ? And see how she blushes, and fidgets 
with her fan, and pretends not to like it. And the 
old folks, her father and mother, of course — they 
sit placidly, with their backs turned, and have no 
attention for any thing but the beer and the music. 
I got a great mind to go up and nudge them. I 
have, as I’m alive.” 

“ Don’t you do nothing of the kind ! ’’cried Mrs. 
Koch, indignantly. “ The idea J How you like it 


224 


THE YOKE OF THE THORAH, 


if some busy-body come up, and nudge my papa, 
when you was making loaf to me ? " 

Well, now, what I admire about that couple,'* 
pursued Mr. Koch, “ is their clever acting. 
They’re trying hard not to give themselves away, 
and not to let people see how sweet they feel. Un- 
less a fellow watched them mighty close, and had 
been there himself, he might really be deceived by 
them, and think they were talking about nothing 
more interesting than the weather. But you and 
me, Mr. Bacharach, we’re shrewd, and we know 
better. She’s a daisy, and no mistake, ain’t she ? 
And the young man — he looks like a respectable 
sort of a chap, too. Well, I guess I wont interfere. 
I guess I’ll do as you say, Sarah. It may be a 
desirable match. What’s your advice, mother-in- 
law ? ” 

Mrs. Blum, quivering like a-mass of jelly with 
suppressed mirth, responded, “ Ach, Gott ! Go 
’vay ! You make me die ! ” 

Mr. Blum, his face wreathed in smiles, exclaimed, 
** Washington, you got more wit about you than 
any man I know. It’s simply wonderful.” 

It seemed as though the Kochs knew every body 
that came. At all events, every body that passed 
their table stopped, and said how-d’ye-do, shaking 
hands, and addressing Mr. Koch as Wash. His 
usual rejoinder was : “ First-class. How’s your- 
self?” 

“ I’m sorry your daughter wasn't able to be here, 
Mrs. Morgenthau,” Elias said. 


THE YOKE OF THE THORAH. 


225 


Oh, my daughter,” Mrs. Morgenthau returned, 
“ she works like a horse. You never saw such a 
worker. It’s simply fearful. And such a good girl, 
Mr. Bacharach. Only nineteen years old, and 
earns more than a hundred dollars a month, and 
supports me and herself. Her uncle, my brother 
over there, he’s as generous with his money as if it 
was water ; and he gave Tillie a magnificent 
education. But she's bound to be self-supporting, 
and hasn’t cost him a cent for nearly a year. Of 
course, he gives her elegant presents every once in 
awhile ; but she pays our expenses by her own 
work. She’s grand. She's an angel.” 

“You’re right there,” put in Mr. Koch. “ Tillie’s 
all wool, from head to foot.” 

“ And a yard vide,” added Mr. Blum. 

“ And such a brilliant musician,” said Elias. 

“ Musician ? ” echoed her mother. “ Well, I 
should say so. You ought to hear her play, when 
she really knuckles down to it. Why, you — you’d 
jump, you’d get so excited. The other night she 
was only drumming — for fun. I tell you what you 
do. You come around and call on us some evening, 
over in Beekman Place. Then you’ll hear her, the 
right way.” 

“ I shall be very happy to. It’s very good of you 
to ask me.” 

“ Good ? Oh, pshaw ; don’t mention it. Tillie 
’ll be delighted. 

“ We shall esteem it an honor to welcome you 
in our home, Mr. Bacharach,” Mr. Sternberg 


226 THE YOKE OF THE THOR AH. 

said, with a stiffness which he mistook for courtli- 
ness. 

Yes, come over, do,” added Mrs. Sternberg. 

Come Sunday evening and take supper with us.” 

Elias agreed to do so, with thanks. 

“ You folks come over, too,” said Mrs. Sternberg, 
addressing the Koch contingent. 

“ You may count upon us,” replied Mr. Koch, 
** providing you'll have enough to eat.” 

At which sally there was a general laugh. 

“ What you all laughing at ? ” the wag proceeded. 
“ I hope you don’t think I’m joking. I wouldn’t 
want to come to supper with a family, if they 
didn’t have enough to go around.” 

At this, the laughter was redoubled ; and Mrs. 
Morgenthau demanded in a whisper of Elias, 
“ Ain’t my brother immense ? ” 

“ There’s either a ball or a wedding going on in 
there,” Mr. Koch announced, pointing to the 
brightly-lighted windows of the hall, that abuts 
upon the garden. “ Hear that music ? It’s a 
string-orchestra, playing dance tunes. Running a 
race with our band, here. Wonder which will come 
in first.” 

Pretty soon the doors of the hall were 
thrown wide open ; and a stream of young people 
poured forth into the garden. The men wore 
dress-suits and patent-leather pumps ; the ladies, 
evening costumes, of red, white, yellow, and other 
bright-hued silks. They took possession of the 
unoccupied tables: round about, and proceeded to 


THE YOKE OF THE THOR AH. 227 

make merry in a very noisy and whole-souled 
manner. 

“ Yes, it’s a wedding, sure enough,” said Mr. 
Koch ; “ and here comes the bride.” 

The bride, a buxom daughter of Israel, of twenty 
odd, attired in canary-colored satin, escorted by 
her bridesmaids, and followed at a respectful dis- 
tance by the groom and his four best men, drew 
up to the table nearest that of our friends, and 
called for beer and cheese ; which, when the waiter 
brought them, she attacked with a vigor and with a 
directness that were charming to witness. Indeed, 
so interesting did her immediate neighbors find the 
spectacle, that not a word was spoken among 
them for a long while. They sat still, and watched 
her with smitten eyes. At last, however, she 
called out to her husband : “ Nun, gut, mein Turtel- 
taubchen ; ich bin ganz satt und gliicklich. 
Komm ’mal mit mir, und noch ein wenig lass uns 
tanzen.” And then Mrs. Koch said that she was 
sorry to break up a party, but she really thought 
she’d better go home, as Laistair might have woke 
up, and he would be frightened if his mamma 
wasn’t there to put him back to shleep. This ex- 
pression of maternal solicitude produced its due 
effect ; and, with many hearty good-nights, the 
company departed upon their several ways. 

Sunday evening, Elias rang the Sternberg door- 
bell at six o’clock. The Kochs and the Blums had 
already arrived ; and they, with the host and 


228 


THE YOKE OF THE THORAH. 


hostess and Mrs. Morgenthau and Tillie, were as- 
sembled in the back-parlor, enjoying the view from 
the bay-window — up, down, and across the river, 
and over the Long Island country on the other 
side. He got, of course, a very effusive reception. 
Mr. Koch inquired what the good word was. Miss 
Tillie said she was so glad to see him, and that it 
was perfectly elegant of him to come. Mr. Stern- 
berg mixed him a vermouth cocktail, “ to put an 
edge on his appetite." And Mr. Blum declared, 
vail, he was looking splendid. 

“Supper’s all ready," proclaimed Mrs. Stern- 
berg, and led the way to the back-yard, where, pro- 
tected by an awning, the table fairly groaned 
beneath its burden of good things. “ Say, Wash," 
she called out to her brother, “ think there's 
enough*? " Which proved that Mr. Koch’s witti- 
cisms were not speedily forgotten in his admiring 
circle. 

Elias thought it exceedingly pleasant thus to 
feast in the open air, while the sky and river 
glowed with the reflected splendor of the sunset ; 
and said so to Miss Tillie. She replied that it was 
simply ideal, that they always did it in good 
weather, and that it was quite the rage among the 
residents of Beekman Place. Beekman Place, she 
went on, was the grandest street in the city, and 
she was awfully attached to it. She’d lived there 
most all her life, and all the memories of her child- 
hood were associated with it. She remembered 
when she used to go fishing, with a thread and a 


THE YOKE OP THE THOR AH. 229 

bent pin, off the docks below there, and how scared 
her mamma used to get, lest she should tumble 
into the water, and be drowned. She didn’t know 
what she’d do — she knew she’d feel just perfectly 
fearful, any how — when she had to leave, and dwell 
elsewhere, as she supposed she would some day. 
Oh, no, they weren’t thinking of moving. She 
meant when she got married. 

“Why,” exclaimed her interlocutor, “I didn’t 
know you were engaged.” 

“ Well, I’m not engaged. But I suppose I’ll get 
engaged before I die. All girls do.” 

But couldn’t she persuade her husband to come 
and live in Beekman Place ? 

Well, that would depend a good deal upon what 
sort of a man he was. Most men wouldn’t want to 
come so far out of the way. She knew, when she 
was at college, it used to take her pretty much all 
day going and coming, and cost a regular fortune 
in car-fares. 

College ? The Normal College ? 

Yes. Class of ’82. Salutatory. 

Indeed ! That was a great honor. 

“ Well, may be it was ; but I didn’t care a cent 
for it. I wanted to be Valedictory. I worked hard 
for it, for four years ; and when I didn’t get it, you 
can’t imagine how horribly bad I felt.” 

“ Oh, yes ; I can understand. It must have been 
very hard.” 

“ Florence Rosenbaum got it. She, and I, and 
an American girl named Redwood, had been rivals 


230 THE YOKE OF THE THORAH. 

ever since we were freshmen. Some years one 
would lead, and some years another. But at the 
finish, Rosenbaum came in first, and Redwood 
third, and I second. I’d just as soon have come in 
last.” — Tillie paused ; appeared puzzled ; finally 
demanded, “Why, what you looking so queer 
about?” 

“ Why, nothing. I didn’t know I was looking 
queer.” 

“ I thought something was choking you, you got 
so red in the face.” 

“ Been down to the beach this season, Mr. Bach- 
arach ? ” broke in Mr. Koch, having reference, 
presumably, to Coney Island. Elias replied in the 
negative. “ Well, then, I tell you what let’s do,” 
Mr. Koch proceeded, addressing the table at large ; 
“ let’s make up a party to go down to the beach 
some afternoon this week, hey ? ” 

After a clamorous debate, it was decided that 
they should dine at the beach on the following 
Wednesday evening, provided the elements were 
favorable. 

Supper over, they went up stairs, and sat in the 
dusk, smoking their cigars, and looking out of the 
bay window, while Tillie played. “ I’m going to 
give you a Chopin evening,” she had said. Elias, 
stretched in a great easy-chair, watching the moon 
float up red and swollen from behind the castellated 
prison on Blackwell’s Island, and listening to the 
subtle, dreamy measures of the Berceuse, thought 
he had never before experienced such restful and 


THE YOKE OF THE THOR AH. 231 

satisfying pleasure. It got dark. The moon 
shrank and paled. A million diamonds sparkled 
upon the bosom of the river. Along the opposite 
embankment, the street lamps gleamed like fallen 
stars. A soft breeze, laden with the odors of lilac and 
wistaria, stole in at the window. The music, 
sweet and solemn, thrilled the darkness like the 
voice of a beautiful, sad, strange spirit. Suddenly 
it died away. Somebody lighted the gas. There 
was an outbreak of talk and laughter. The spell 
was broken. Elias started, got upon his feet, bade 
his friends good-night, went home. 


XVIII. 


HEY had a very noisy and jolly time down at 



1 the beach ; a time which, they all agreed, was 
simply grand. They walked to and fro along the 
shore, and went in for a bath, and ate a capital 
dinner, and enjoyed the music, and met lots of 
their friends, and laughed and talked till their sides 
ached, and their throats were sore. Mrs. Blum, in 
her bathing costume, was the butt of many innocent 
jokes. Her husband said she resembled a blaidder. 
Elias had to think hard, before he caught the 
idea, and recognized its force. They returned to 
the city by the boat ; and, having reached the Bat- 
tery, Mr. Blum gave expression to the universal 
sentiment when he declared, “ Vail, dot sail up the 


232 THE YOKE OF THE THOR AH, 

Bay, dot was maiknificent, dot was perfectly 
immense.” 

“ Come over soon now, won’t you, Mr. Bach- 
arach ? ” Mrs. Morgenthau asked, as Elias was tear- 
ing himself away. 

“ Yes, do,” chimed in Miss Tillie. 

And he promised that he would. 

He redeemed his promise about a week later. 
Tillie played to him to his heart’s content, and 
afterward she amused him with her conversation. 

On his way home, “ She’s a good little thing,” he 
soliloquized ; “ thoroughly well-meaning and kind- 
hearted. Crude, of course, and uncultivated ; but 
a fellow must make allowances for that sort of 
thing. She has plenty of mother-wit ; and her dash 
— her abundance of animal spirits — it — it’s posi- 
tively stimulating. Then she plays — well, her 
playing is marvelous, masterly — such execution — 
such expression — really, no praise could do justice 
to her playing. And she’s not at all bad-looking, 
either.” 

He called pretty soon again ; and after that he 
got into the habit of calling regularly at frequent 
intervals. He was invariably welcomed with ex- 
ceeding warmth, and treated with a certain defer- 
ence that no doubt tickled his vanity. Besides, a 
bay-window overlooking the East River is a pleas- 
ant place to spend a hot summer’s night. And 
Tillie’s music, it was worth traveling miles to hear. 

In his hours of solitude he led a very useless and 
meaningless existence. He did not paint much ; 


THE YOKE OF THE THOR AH. 


233 


and when he did, his occupation proved neither 
profitable nor enjoyable. He read a good many 
light novels ; he spent a good deal of time seated 
at his studio window, gazing off across the tree- 
tops, and lapsing into a state of mental vacuity, 
that approached as near to total unconsciousness as 
is compatible with sustained animation. He even 
went to the theater now and then, escorting Tillie 
and her mother. To Mrs. Morgenthau he had 
taken a genuine liking. There was something so 
hearty and vigorous about her, something almost 
manly. His palate was dulled. He craved strong 
flavors. 

They’re going to the country before long, 
aren’t they ? ” the rabbi asked one day. 

Yes ; the first week in July.” 

“ Well, don’t you think we ought to have them to 
dinner, before they go ? ” 

“ That wouldn’t be a bad idea,” confessed Elias. 

And on the following Sunday to dinner they all 
came. 

Mr. Koch expatiated in his oratorical style upon 
the charms of the Catskills ; and the others unani- 
mously joined him in urging Elias and the rabbi to 
“ come along.” The rabbi replied that he positively 
couldn’t. His professional duties were such as to 
compel him to remain in town. 

But there’s no reason you shouldn’t,” he 
concluded, turning to his nephew ; “ and I think 
decidedly you’d better.” 

At this, they concentrated their fire upon Elias ; 


234 


THE YOKE OF THE THORAH. 


and in the end, he said, well, perhaps he would run 
up for a week or two some time in August. 

But he did not wait till August. After they were 
gone, he found the city intolerably dull. What to 
do with himself, how to divert himself, where to 
seek a substitute for the excitement that they had 
afforded him, he did not know. He began to realize 
that he had grown very dependent upon their 
society ; likewise, that he possessed but very few 
and feeble resources within himself. He did not 
like this. It damaged his self-esteem. But he 
could not deny it, he could not get the better of it. 
He craved the sound of their voices ; he craved 
Tillie’s music ; he craved the exuberant friendliness 
with which they treated him. The idleness, the 
monotony, the insipidity, of his daily life in the 
city, he could not endure. In the copious leisure 
that it left him, he would sometimes — despite his 
customary inanition — he would sometimes fall to 
thinking ; and when he thought, he did not admire 
himself ; he even sluggishly despised himself ; a 
sense of his uselessness bore in upon him ; he was 
anxious to escape himself. So, toward the middle 
of July, he packed his trunk, and went to Tanners- 
town. He had said that he would run up for a 
week or two. But he did not return to New York 
until the others did so, early in September. 

He and Tillie were together a great deal. They 
sat next to each other at table. In the day- 
time they would take walks together, or lounge to- 
gether about the piazza of the hotel, or play croquet 


THE YOKE OF THE THORAH. 235 

together ; or, haply, she would lie in a hammock, 
while he read to her, or sketched her. In the even- 
ing, if there was dancing, they would dance to- 
gether ; for she had taught him to dance. Or, 
perhaps, they would go together for a stroll 
by moonlight, or again sit together on the piazza in 
the dark. He liked her very much indeed. On 
closer acquaintance, her crudity became less con- 
spicuous. Either he got accustomed to it, or it 
was eclipsed by her many and sterling virtues. 
She was a paragon of unselfishness — always doing 
something for somebody, always giving up some- 
thing that somebody else might enjoy it. When 
they went for a drive, Tillie always took the least 
desirable seat. When there was an errand to be 
run, Tillie always ran it. When a letter had to be car- 
ied to the post, Tillie always carried it. Etc., etc. 
Her attitude toward her mother struck Elias as es- 
pecially fine. Such filial respect, solicitude, obedi- 
ence, unwearying devotion, he had never witnessed 
before. She was constantly looking after her moth- 
er’s comfort, fetching and carrying for her mother, 
doing for her mother. If a pretty fan were for sale 
in the village, she must purchase it for mamma. If 
there were pretty wild flowers growing along the 
road-side, she must gather them for mamma. If 
mammabreathed a wish, Tillie v/ould devote hours, if 
need were, to the execution of it. For hours, if mamma 
had a head-ache, Tillie would stand upon her feet, 
stroking mamma’s forehead. Her mother appeared 
to be her passion, almost her religion. And how 


236 THE YOKE OE THE THOEAH, 


could Elias help admiring such a model daughter ? 
And then, her music, and her pretty face. Cou/d 
anybody play like that, could anybody possess such 
bright blue eyes, and not have a gentle soul, even a 
spark of divinity, glowing beneath the surface ? 
What mattered faulty grammar, or too robust a 
voice ? On the whole, he told himself, he had a 
genuine affection for Tillie. She was a rough 
diamond ; rough, but susceptible of the highest 
degree of polish. She only needed time and refin- 
ing influences, to make a charming lady. He liked 
her very much indeed, with a patronizing, brotherly 
sort of liking. What her sentiment for him might 
be, he never thought to ask himself, but tacitly 
assumed that it was one of cordial friendliness. 

Mr. Koch and Mr. Sternberg staid but a fort- 
night apiece. Mr. Blum, the ladies, and Elias, 
staid till the beginning of September ; when they 
all came back to town in company. Elias then 
resumed his frequent visiting in Beekman Place. 

One evening after dinner the rabbi asked Elias 
to step into his study. 

“ I had a call from Mr. Koch this afternoon,” 
the rabbi said. 

“ Ah ? ” returned Elias. 

“ Yes. He stopped in on his way up-town.” 

“ That so ? Any thing special ? ” 

“Well, yes. That’s why I wanted to see you, 
now. He spoke about you.” Emphasis on the “you.” 

“ About me ? Indeed ? Why, what could he 
have had to say about me ? ” 


THE YOKE OP THE THORAH. 


m 


“ Well, he thought it was strange that you didn't 
come to see him, and wanted to know why you were 
holding olf." 

“ Come to see him ? Why, I went to see him only 
last week. Holding off ? I don’t know what he 
can mean.” 

“ No, no. You don’t understand. He meant 
about declaring your intentions.” 

“ What intentions ? Intentions ? I don’t know 
what you're driving at, I’m sure.” 

“ Why, your intentions in respect to his niece, of 
course.” 

“ My intentions in respect — Mercy ! ” gasped 
Elias, with honest astonishment, as the idea sud- 
denly dawned upon him. “You don’t mean to 
say that — that he imagines — that — that I — Good 
Lord ! ” 

“ Why, certainly,” said the rabbi. “ How could 
he help it ? You haven’t taken Washington I. Koch 
for a fool, I hope. Besides, your attentions have 
been so very marked, that no great penetration 
was necessary. / 'm not much at that sort of thing, 
but even I saw through them long ago. In fact, 
no man with half an eye open could have failed to 
do so.” 

“ Merciful Powers ! ” exclaimed Elias, and sat 
dumb. 

“ There’s no use making so much ado about it, 
either,” pursued the rabbi. “ It was bound to come 
out, you know, sooner or later ; and, at any rate, 
you have no reason for feeling ashamed of it.” 


23 ^ THE YOKE OF THE THORAH. 


** But — ” began Elias. 

“ Oh, I dare say. I dare say, it's a little embar- 
rassing. That's not unnatural. But then, you 
couldn't have kept it a secret forever. By its very 
nature, it was bound to come out." 

“ But," Elias began anew, “ but it's not true. 
It’s the most preposterous mistake I ever heard of. 
I never had any such idea, never dreamed of hav- 
ing any such idea. Intentions ! Why, I always 
thought of her as — as scarcely more than a child. 
I don’t see how anybody could have made such a 
stupid, ridiculous blunder. Well, I did give Mr. 
Koch credit for more intelligence." 

Elias," demanded the rabbi, with very great 
seriousness, “are you in earnest, or is this a 
comedy ? " 

“ A comedy ? I tell you it's outrageous. I never 
was more in earnest in my life.” 

“ And I am to understand that you have made 
Miss Morgenthau the object of your particu- 
lar attentions — as you can’t deny you have done — 
and in that way have necessarily endeared yourself 
more or less to her — I am to understand that you 
have deliberately done this, without meaning eventu- 
ally to make her your wife ? ’’ 

“ Particular attentions ! I’ve paid her no particu- 
lar attentions. I took a friendly interest in the 
girl, and behaved toward her in a friendly way. 
My wife ! The notion never entered my head — 
nor hers, either. I’ll venture to say." 

“ I can hardly believe it,” said the rabbi, shaking 


THE YOKE OF THE THORAH. 


239 


his head incredulously. “ I don't like to believe 
it. I don’t like to believe you capable of — of 
such—” 

“ Such what ? What have I done ? Is it my 
fault, if people jump to false conclusions ? Am I 
to blame for their lack of sense ? Can’t a young 
man be ordinarily polite and decent to a young 
girl, without every body fancying that he is spoony 
over her ? ” 

“ No, he can’t ; not if you call it ordinarily polite 
and decent to visit a young lady regularly every 
week or so, and spend a couple of months at her 
side in the country. From that sort of politeness 
and decency, her parents always infer that he 
means matrimony. It gives the same impression to 
society, also, and frightens other young men 
away.” 

“ Well,” groaned Elias, “ I suppose it’s needless 
for me to say I’m sorry. I a7n sorry ; but that’s 
neither here nor there. If I had at all foreseen — 
But what’s the use of iffing ? Now that you have 
opened my eyes. I’ll stop visiting her. That’s at 
once the least and most I can do. Well, I’m glad 
it went no further. So far, at any rate, no harm 
has been done.” 

“No harm done ! Well, I must say, your com- 
placency astounds me. No harm done ! You — 
you get a young girl’s expectations all aroused — 
get her heart set on you — get her and her family to 
taking for granted that you want to marry her — get 
the whole world to talking about her as your sweet- 


240 THE YOKE OF THE THORAH. 

heart — and then coolly dismiss the matter with a 
No harm done ! No harm done, forsooth ! ” 

“ Oh, come,” protested Elias ; ‘‘ you exaggerate. 
It’s not so bad as all that. Whatever you and her 
uncle and the others may have suspected, she never 
misconstrued my feeling for her. She has too 
much good sense. Why, I never spoke a word to 
her that could, by torturing it even, be interpreted 
as any thing more than friendly. As for her heart 
being set upon me, and her expectations aroused, 
that’s rubbish, pure and simple rubbish.” 

Is it, though ? ” retorted the rabbi. “ Her uncle 
didn’t seem to think so.” 

“ What do you mean ? ” cried Elias. 

I mean that Mr. Koch gave me to understand 
that Miss Morgenthau is in love with you.” 

“ Gave you to understand ? Oh, you wAunder- 
stood.” 

I could scarcely have done that. He told me 
so in just so many words.” 

‘‘Well, then, he didn’t know what he was talking 
about.” 

“ Perhaps not ; but he had it directly from Mrs. 
Morgenthau. When he asked why you didn’t pop 
the question, I said it might be that you were 
doubtful about what kind of an answer you’d get. 
Then he assured me that you could set your mind 
at rest on that score, for Mrs. Morgenthau 
had told him that Tillie thought all the world of 
you. The young girl has confided in her mother, 
as a young girl should.” 


THE YOKE OF THE THORAH. ^ 4 * 

“ Oh, this is horrible ! Elias gasped. 

“Yes, horrible ; I think that's the right name 
for it, if what you say about your own feeling is 
true. If you don't mean to marry her, I can’t see 
how it could be much worse. But now, honestly, 
are you sure you don’t ? ” 

“ Why, I tell you, I never thought of such a 
thing — never dreamed of it.” 

“Well, it isn’t too late to think of it, even now. 
It’s a fine chance. I advise you to consider a little 
before you throw it away. She’d make you an ex- 
cellent wife, and bring a snug sum of money with 
her. Mr. Koch mentioned something like twenty 
thousand dollars. You can have her for the ask- 
ing. Such an opportunity may never occur again.” 

“ You speak as though it were a bargain — just as 
I should expect Mr. Blum to speak of what he calls 
a chop-lot. You don’t suppose I want her twenty 
thousand dollars ? I have more money than I’ve 
any right to, already ; I, who do nothing to earn 
any. I think it ought to settle the question, when 
I say I don’t love the girl.” 

“ What do you mean by love ? ” 

“ What is generally meant by love ? I mean 
that I don’t care for her in any way except a 
friendly one.” 

“ Well, what do you mean by friendly ? ” 

“ I mean that I like her — just as a fellow might 
like his sister.” 

“You make a distinction without a difference. 
Or rather, no ; the difference is against you. Love, 


242 THE YOKE OF THE THORAH. 

in the sense in which you use the word, isn’t what’s 
wanted. A strong liking, an affection, is more to 
the point. I was struck the other day, when look- 
ing in the dictionary, to find, among its other defi- 
nitions, love defined as a ‘ thin silk stuff.’ Well, 
affection is a stout woolen fabric. For matrimonial 
purposes, for daily wear and tear, the latter is by 
far the better.” 

There’s room for two opinions about that. I 
may be allowed to have my own.” 

“ Certainly ; though your opinion would coincide 
with mine, if you were wiser. But let us confine 
ourselves to the practical aspects of the case. You 
say you like the young lady very much ? ” 

Yes, but — ” 

Not so fast. Now, if you like her very much, 
would you not wish, if possible, to spare her the 
pain and the mortification of having her hopes in 
your regard disappointed ? ” 

If possible, of course. But it isn’t possible.” 

One moment. Now, don’t you think she’s a 
very estimable young woman ? Don’t you think 
the man who got her for his wife would be a for- 
tunate fellow ? ” 

Other things equal — that is, if he loved her — 
yes, I think so.” 

“ Well and good. Then what I want you to con- 
sider is this. In the first place, here is a young 
lady, whom you like very much, ready and willing 
to become your wife. You’ve got to take her or 
leave her. Unless you profit by your chances, and 


THE YOKE OF THE THORAH 243 

secure her now, you’ll have to give her up alto- 
gether, and lose her for good. In the second place 
— whether intentionally or unintentionally doesn’t 
matter — you have, by your assiduous devotion, 
contrived to win her love, and to cause her and her 
family to expect that you were going to ask for her 
hand in marriage. Consequently, in the event 
of your now abruptly breaking off with her, and 
discontinuing your visits, you will occasion the 
young lady herself much unmerited grief and humil- 
iation, you’ll set busy-bodies far and wide to gossip- 
ing, and you’ll bring no end of odium down upon 
yourself. Consider these things, and you’ll see 
that you’ve got yourself into a very unpleasant 
situation, a very tight fix. There’s only one way 
out of it ; but that way is strewn with roses. Mat- 
rimony ! Marry her ! Why, if I were in your place, 
I shouldn’t hesitate an instant.” 

** If you were in my place, I don’t think you’d 
know what to do.” 

“ If I were in your place, I should congratulate 
myself. I should be thankful for my tremendous 
good-luck, in winning such a wife. Tillie Morgen- 
thau is a jewel, if there ever was one. She has 
certain peculiarities of manner, I admit * but six 
months of intimate association with you, would 
tone them down to nothing. She’s as pretty as a 
picture ; she plays wonderfully ; and her character 
is pure gold. Just think, boy, that this prize is 
within your grasp ! Then, besides, you ought to 
get married, anyhow. Such an opportunity comes 


244 


THE YOKE OF THE THORAH 


but once in a lifetime. I’m an old man ; and I 
know what I’m talking about.” 

“ That may be ; but that makes no difference. I 
simply repeat, I don’t love her, I’m not in love with 
her. I shall never be in love with any body. My 
capacity for loving has been exhausted. I shall 
remain a bachelor all my life.” 

“ Oh, you try my patience. Your talk is silly. 
Your head is full of romantic notions, like a school- 
girl’s. Remain a bachelor ! Don’t you know that 
every man is required by our religion to marry and 
bring up a family ? Love ? Gammon ! Love 
marriages in nine cases out of ten are unhappy. 
Hundreds, thousands, of better men than you, nave 
married without the sickish sentiment which you 
call love ; and happier marriages were never made. 
I tell you, if you don’t marry Miss Tillie Morgen- 
thau, you’ll live to repent it bitterly. Think of 
how she would brighten up this gloomy old house. 
Think of the children. Think — Oh, you’re throw- 
ing away the flower of your life. The Lord — yes, 
sir — the Lord God of Israel has put this woman in 
your path ; and you, with your imbecile delusions 
about love, see fit to spurn her ! ” 

Elias held his peace. 

By and by, Well ?” questioned the rabbi. 

‘‘Well, what?” 

“Well, what are you going to do? Have you 
thought better of it ? ” 

“ I am still of the same mind.” 


THE YOKE OF THE THORAH. 245 

“ You Still mean to fly in the face of Provi- 
dence ? ” 

“ Well, if it pleases you to phrase it that way, 
yes.” 

“And your knowledge of the wound you are 
going to inflict upon Miss Tillie — you don't flinch, 
you don’t falter a little, at that ? ” 

“ What can I do ? I can’t help it. I — I sup- 
pose I was born to cause sorrow in the world. I 
have already spoiled the life of one young girl. 
Now, it looks as though I were in a fair way to 
spoil the life of another.” 

“ Elias, the two affairs ought not to be mentioned 
in the same breath. In that one, you weren’t re- 
sponsible. In this, you are. Being responsible, 
and seeing your duty plain before you, I don’t 
understand how you can hesitate. Don’t you real- 
ize what you have done ? You have gone to work 
and compromised this young girl ; yes, sir, cotnpro- 
mised her. And having done that, you are bound 
in common honor to marry her. Why, sir, through- 
out this city, in every Jewish family in this city, if 
you don’t marry her, she’ll be talked about. Think 
of that. Furthermore, I tell you, it’s the will of 
the Lord. If you don’t marry her, the Lord will 
punish you. You’d better consider a little. You’d 
better think twice, before you determine in cold 
blood to break this young girl’s heart, and make 
her name a by-word among gossips, and defy the 
will of the Lord our God. It’s a fearful responsi- 
bility.” 


246 THE YOKE OF THE THOR AH. 

*‘0h, don’t tell me that. I know that. It 
couldn't be worse. I should very gladly marry her, 
or do any thing else, to mend matters, to repair the 
mischief which, it seems, I have wrought ; only, I 
can’t believe that it is right to marry without love. 
If, as you say, it is the will of the Lord, why hasn’t 
the Lord made me love her ? ” 

“ He has made you love her — with the best sort 
of love — with a genuine, strong affection. If you 
don’t feel a flimsy, volatile passion for her, it is be- 
cause that isn’t the thing that’s needed in marriage. 
Who’s the better judge of right and wrong, who’s 
the better qualified to interpret the will of God, you 
or I ? You’d do well to call to mind how once 
before I warned you, and you chose to make light 
of my warning ; and then, what happened ? Now, 
here is my last word. You marry Miss Morgen- 
thau, or you’ll regret it to your dying day.” 

After a long pause, “ Well,” said Elias, “ I’ll 
think about it.” 

‘■‘You’ll have to think quickly,” rejoined the 
rabbi ; “ for I promised Mr. Koch that he should 
hear from you by to-morrow evening at the latest.” 

“ Oh, you ought to have allowed me more time 
than that. I really need more time than that.” 

“ Time ? What do you want time for ? Are 
you absolutely lacking in decision of character? 
Why, in a case like this, a man, who is a man, 
ought to say yes or no on the spot. There’s noth- 
ing that needs deliberation. You have to make the 
simplest kind of a choice, the easiest possible 


THE YOKE OF THE THORAH. 247 

choice. You have to choose between obvious, pal- 
pable right, and obvious, palpable wrong. If you 
took a year to think about it, the matter would 
still stand precisely as it stands to-day. I’m sur- 
prised at you — surprised that you can hesitate a 
minute.” 

“Well, if you object to my taking time, then the 
only thing left for me to do, is to repeat what I’ve 
said already.” 

“ That you won’t marry her ? ” 

“ If I’ve got to decide instantly, on the spot, 
yes.” 

“ Well, then, take time ; and much good may it 
do you. We’ll talk about this again to-morrow. I 
hope meanwhile the Lord may enlighten you, and 
move your stubborn spirit. Now, good-night.” 

When they met at breakfast next morning, 
“Well,” began the rabbi, “ have you thought about 
it?” 

“ Yes,” replied Elias, “ I have thought about it 
— all night long.” 

“ Contrived to make up your mind ? ” 

“ Yes, I have made up my mind.” 

The rabbi’s pale skin turned, a shade paler. He 
waited a little, before asking, “ Well ? ” His voice 
was faint and tremulous. 

“ Well,” said Elias, “ I have made up my mind 
to do as you wish — to call upon Mr. Koch this 
evening, and do as you wish.” 

The rabbi jumped up from his seat, grasped 


248 THE VOKE OF THE THORAH. 


Elias’s hand, wrung it fervently, and cried, “ It is 
the will of the Lord ! The Lord be praised ! ” 

Elias held his tongue. He was looking very 
grave this morning. 

“ Oh, but you have lifted a load from off my 
spirit,” pursued the rabbi, returning to his place. 
“At last I shall be contented. If only your mother 
might have lived to enjoy this day ! ” 

“ I am glad you are pleased,” said Elias. 

“ But tell me, boy, tell me all about it. What 
finally decided you ? ” 

“ Oh, it’s a long story. It wouldn’t interest 
you.” 

“ On the contrary. I’m most anxious to hear it. 
Go on. Out with it. Come.” 

“ Well, it isn’t very exciting. It’s simply this. I 
have tried to be honest, and to get at the real 
truth. I have tried to analyze and comprehend my 
own feelings, and to look the circumstances squarely 
in the face. The result is, I believe that you are 
right — that I have more or less seriously compro- 
mised her, and am bound in duty, therefore, to 
marry her, if she wants me to. I don’t think I am 
swayed by any selfish motive. I think my desire 
to act honorably, to do the right thing, is sincere 
and genuine. The prospect of having her for my 
wife gives me no pleasure at all. I must confess 
that it is no longer repugnant to me, either. It 
awakes no emotion of any kind. It leaves me 
totally indifferent. This evening, as I say, I shall 
propose for her hand. If, as you expect, I am ac- 


THE YOKE OF THE THORAH. 249 

cepted, well and good. If I should be rejected, 
equally well and good. I shall neither be pleased 
nor disappointed, in the one event or in the other. 
The long and short of the business is, that I never 
hope to be happy in this world ; nor to be much of 
any thing, except listless and sluggish. I’ve used 
up my share of happiness, already. So far as I can 
see, I’m utterly good-for-nothing, besides. I 
have already caused plenty of misery. If, by mar- 
rying this young girl, I can keep from causing any 
more, and perhaps even become the means of a lit- 
tle positive happiness — why, I can’t think of any 
better use to which to put myself. I dare say I 
shall be able to make her a tolerable husband, as 
husbands go. I shall try to, any how. It’s a pity I 
was ever born ; but that can’t be helped at this 
late date. If I could be quietly annihilated, wiped 
out of existence, I think that would be the best 
thing all around ; but I haven’t the courage to do 
away with myself. So, as long as I’ve got to go on 
cumbering the face of the earth, when I see a 
chance to render myself comparatively inoffensive, 
it seems as though I’d better seize it and improve 
it.” 

“ Elias,” said the rabbi, “ I don’t know whether to 
scold you, or to laugh at you. You’re morbid, abom- 
inably morbid. This marriage is exactly what you 
need, to brace you up, and put a little health into 
you. You talk like a French novel. You have cut 
open your doll, and found it stuffed with saw-dust. 
Poor, pessimistic fellow ! Bah ! I shall neither 


250 


THE YOKE OF THE THORAH. 


scold you, nor laugh at you. I shall congratulate 
you. And in a few months now, I shall have the 
satisfaction, in my professional capacity, of pro- 
nouncing you the happiest of husbands.” 

If I talk like a French novel,” returned Elias, 
“ I talk, at least, as I feel. I mean every word I 
say. The one conviction that abides with me all 
the time, lies heavily upon my conscience day and 
night, is the conviction of my utter uselessness and 
worthlessness in the world. Why, the cook in our 
kitchen, the man who looks after our furnace, does 
more practical good, has a better claim to his bread 
and butter, than I. I have lived twenty-seven 
years. All that I have been able to accomplish in 
all that time, is the irretrievable ruin of an innocent 
young girl’s life. That’s the one ponderable re- 
sult of my twenty-seven years’ existence — the one 
thing I’ve got to show for it.” 

And your pictures ? Do your pictures count 
for nothing ? ” 

“ Oh ! ” cried Elias, with a sudden outburst of 
passion, “ don’t talk to me of my pictures. I 
should like to burn every stitch of canvas that I 
have ever put my hand to, and spoiled for better 
purposes. I have burned all that remained in my 
possession. As long as I live, I shall never touch 
a brush again.” 

From which it would appear that our hero had 
wrought himself into a very unenviable, frame of 
mind. 

To narrate at length what followed would be mel- 


THE YOKE OF THE THORAH, 251 

ancholy ; and it would be superfluous. Tillie and 
Elias became engaged. Their engagement was cele- 
brated by three redoubtable dinners — one at the 
Sternbergs', one at the Kochs’, and one at the 
dark house on Stuyvesant Park. Their wedding was 
set down for the following January. Then, accord- 
ing to the regular Jewish custom, for three succes- 
sive Sunday afternoons, they were “ at home” at the 
residence of the prospective bride. Hither flocked 
scores, even hundreds, of their friends, and offered 
their congratulations — their friends, and their 
friends’ friends, and the friends of all relatives 
and connections, far and near. Much wine was 
drunken at these receptions, much cheese-cake eaten, 
much tobacco smoked ; and oh, what a quantity of 
talk, in what a variety of accents, from best to worst, 
roused cacophonic echoes in the walls and ceiling ! 
Among our New York Jews, it may be said with 
material literalness, a subtle chain of countless 
rings the next unto the farthest brings. If one had 
wished to obtain a bird’s-eye-view of the metro- 
politan Jewish world, to behold in indiscriminate 
procession all sorts and conditions of Jews and 
Jewesses, one could not have done better than 
arrive early and remain till the end of one of these 
Sunday afternoons. Old and young, good and 
bad, wise and foolish, rich and poor, savage and 
civilized ; fat Jews and lean Jews, shabby Jews and 
shoddy Jews, gentlemanly Jews and rowdy Jews ; 
petty tradesmen, banker princes, college professors, 
commercial travelers, doctors, lawyers, students, 


252 THE YOKE OF THE THOR AH. 

musicians : all came, accompanied by their wives 
and their children, their parents, and their parents- 
in-law, and their brothers and sisters-in-law, to add 
their quota to the great jubilation. And such a 
lot of hand-shaking as there was transacted among 
them, to be sure ; for, at a congratulation-party of 
this description, you must not only shake hands with 
the betrothed couple and their immediate family, 
but likewise with each of your fellow-guests, pro- 
nouncing, as you do so, the shibboleth : “ Con- 
gratulate you,” or, “ Gratulire.” Then, as has 
been said, there was an unceasing flow of wine, 
tobacco smoke, and talk ; and the place sounded 
like a stock exchange or bedlam. 

This sort of thing — sitting for joy, it is some- 
times called — may be sufficiently amusing for a 
while ; but three successive Sundays of it are rather 
too much; and Elias and Tillie were both heartily 
glad when at last it was over. 

Tillie, all smiles and blushes and animation, was 
the happiest of happy little persons. Over and 
above the generous settlement he was to make for 
her at her marriage, Mr. Koch had drawn a check 
to her order for no less dazzling a sum than two 
thousand dollars, the proceeds of which she and 
her mother were now very busy spending for her 
trousseau. Elias could not help catching some- 
thing of her good spirits. He could not remain 
quite dejected or impassive in the presence of such 
an exuberant joy as hers. He began to be fonder 
of her than ever, even, he sometimes told himself. 


THE YOKE OF THE THORAH. 253 

to love her after a fashion ; but it was a neutral, 
passionless sort of love, and had its source, not in 
impulse, but in habit. He looked forward with a 
certain mild pleasure to his union with her, and was 
mildly thankful that he had followed the rabbi's 
counsel. They were not much alone together, he 
and she ; and when they were, their deportment 
was far enough from lover-like. He, indeed, seldom 
opened his mouth, save to answer a question, or to 
utter a sympathetic oh or ah j but listened to 
Tillie's vivacious descriptions of the dresses she was 
having made, or sat silent in the bay-window, and 
watched the boats sail by on the river, while she 
played his favorite music to him. He took her and 
her mother to the theater as often as either expressed 
a desire to go, and tried heroically not to yawn 
or appear bored. He escorted them, also, to a good 
many dancing parties, and dinner parties, as well 
as to the famous Advance Club ball, where Tillie 
excited a vast deal of admiration as an ear of corn, 
and just narrowly missed the prize, getting instead 
an honorable mention. 

Alone, Elias persistently fought shy of himself, 
persistently shunned self-communion. He dared 
not open his eyes, and look himself squarely in the 
face. He knew that it would not be an inspiriting 
spectacle. His studio he had locked up, with the 
resolution never to touch his paints any more for- 
ever. He sought to escape from himself in reading ; 
and, indeed, he read an astonishing multitude of 
books upon an astonishing multitude of sub- 


254 THE YOKE OF THE THOR AH. 

jects. But now and then, in spite of his efforts 
to be blind, the actual Elias Bacharach would loom 
up big before him, in all his ghastly demoralization; 
and sick with self-loathing, he would bury his face 
in his hands, and demand bitterly, impotently, why 
he had ever been born ? what single earthly pur- 
pose he was good for ? why he could not be 
abolished utterly forthwith ? But these dark moods, 
or lucid intervals, were commonly of short duration. 
He was generally able to forget them in a novel. 
He watched his wedding-day draw near and nearer, 
without the slightest quickening of the pulse. As 
I have said, he took a certain insipid pleasure in 
the thought of his marriage. He fancied it would 
be rather agreeable than otherwise to have Tillie a 
constant inmate of his house. She would brighten 
it up, put a little electricity into its atmosphere, re- 
lieve the excessive tedium of life in it. But this 
pleasure was very mild indeed ; the languid pleasure 
that one might experience at the prospect of becom- 
ing the owner of a languidly admired vase or 
piece of furniture. Yes, he was glad enough 
that it was going to be his ; but he did not care 
a great deal one way or the other ; and as the day 
approached which was to inaugurate his proprietor- 
ship, he felt no flutter of the heart, no accession of 
eagerness or interest. Tillie’s excitement, on the 
contrary, intensified perceptibly. It had the effect 
of beautifying her, and of civilizing her. With 
heightened color and brightened eyes, she was an 
exceedingly pretty girl, one that any man might 


THE YOKE OF THE THORAH 


255 


have been proud of for his bride. Then, she did 
not]talk half so loudly as she had used to do ; and her 
choice of words, phrases, and figures, underwent a 
notable modification for the better. The adjec- 
tives, grandy idealy eleganty fearfuly and such like, 
for example, dropped almost entirely out of her 
daily speech. 

Of course, before long, the wedding-presents be- 
gan to come in. Tillie’s delight knew no bounds. 
Every evening Elias discovered her in an ecstasy 
over the things that had arrived that day, and joy- 
fully anticipating those that would arrive to-mor- 
row. Some of these presents made the poor fellow 
groan inwardly. Mr. Blum, for instance, sent an 
enormous worsted-work picture of Ruth and Boaz, 
with a charming, though misapplied, inscription 
cunningly embroidered in gold thread : “ Whither 
thou goest, I will go,” etc. Elias knew that this 
would have to be hung in a conspicuous place in 
his house ; for, of course, when Mr. Blum came to 
see them, he would look for it, and, if it wasn't 
visible, would feel hurt and slighted. Mrs. Blum 
sent a pair of diamond ear-rings. Tillie at once 
put them on ; and she never afterward appeared 
without them ; so that, from this point, whenever 
she figures upon these pages, the reader will 
kindly imagine a lustrous solitaire pendent from 
each of her tiny ears. They were large and hand- 
some ; and Mr. Blum confidentially informed Elias 
that he had got them at a bargain, but that they 
had coast him a heap of money all the same. 


2 $6 THE YOKE OF THE THOR AH. 

Neither Mr. Sternberg’s parlors, nor Mr. Koch’s, 
were spacious enough to accommodate a tithe of the 
people who would have to be invited to the wed- 
ding ; and therefore it was decided to follow the 
common Jewish practice, and engage for the occa- 
sion a public hall. Mr. Koch engaged the hall of 
the Advance Club. 

There, accordingly, in the afternoon of Monday, 
the seventh of January, 1884, and in the presence 
of rather more than three hundred witnesses, Mr. 
Elias Bacharach and Miss Matilda Morgenthau 
were pronounced irrevocably man and wife ; the 
Reverend Dr. Gedaza, assisted by the Reverend 
Mr. Lewis, as cantor, officiating. The ceremonies 
were conducted in the strictest orthodox style. 
The happy couple stood beneath a silken canopy, 
supported by four young gentlemen designated by 
the groom ; all the men present covered their heads, 
some with hats, some with handkerchiefs ; the can- 
tor intoned an invocation, a prayer, a benediction ; 
the rabbi put the requisite questions, and got the 
regulation responses, both in Hebrew ; after which, 
he made a very pretty and touching speech, kissed 
the bride, and said, “ Mrs. Bacharach, accept my 
heartiest congratulations.” The wine, meanwhile, 
had been spilled and drunken, and the goblet 
crushed under the bridegroom’s heel. For upwards 
of an hour afterward, there was a wild clamor of 
talk ; and every body shook hands with Elias, and 
gave Tillie a kiss. Then they all sat down to din- 
ner. The chazzan chanted a grace. The ban- 


THE YOKE OF THE THORAH. 


257 


queters fell to. By and by toasts were proposed, 
and harangues delivered. The dancing began at 
eleven o’clock, and held out until five the next 
morning. 

So they were married. 


XIX. 

F irst of all, weakened in body and mind by an 
epileptic stroke ; then scared literally out of 
his wits, terrified into a mental and emotional stu- 
por, by the belief that that which we know to have 
been an epileptic stroke was a visitation from an 
angry God ; a victim, rather than a villain ; the 
creature of disease and superstition, of heredity 
and education ; Elias Bacharach had deserted and 
forgotten the woman whom he loved, and had 
allowed himself to be seduced into a marriage with 
a woman whom he did not love. That a reawaken- 
ing, accompanied by all the horrors of despair and 
remorse, should come sooner or later, was, of course, 
inevitable. It did not come, however, till some 
nine months after his separation from Christine 
Redwood, which was some nine months too late. 

3 have in my possession a quantity of manuscript, 
in Elias’s crabbed handwriting, which gives a deep 
and clear, though fragmentary, insight into the life 
he led after his marriage. It is in the form of a 
long, turbulent, and often hysterical letter, ad- 


258 THE YOKE OF THE THOR AH. 

dressed by him, under circumstances which will in 
due time be explained, to Christine — a letter, how- 
ever, which was never sent — and it bears date Feb- 
ruary, 1885. I have already made one or two quota- 
tions from it. I shall avail myself freely of it in the 
present chapter. 

About the relations between himself and Tillie, 
Elias writes, “ there is not much to be said. Our 
relations were perfectly amicable, but perfectly 
superficial. Man and wife in name, in reality we 
were simply good friends ; scarcely that, indeed ; 
scarcely more than friendly acquaintances. She 
was invariably bright, cheerful, amiable, unselfish. 
I tried to do my duty by her, as I conceived it ; to be 
always kind to her, and to seize every opportunity 
that I saw to'afford her pleasure, or to spare her an- 
noyance. I dare say this was not enough. I dare 
say she deserved better of me than she got ; that I 
ought to have striven to be her husband in a more 
genuine and vital sense of the word. But I did 
not ; and if, in this way, I sinned against her, it 
was at least an unintentional sin, a sin of omission, 
and one which she remained unaware of. I was 
egotistical and self-centered, as it is my nature to 
be. She was not at all exacting. If I would listen 
to her when she talked, and admire her dresses, 
and enjoy her playing, and take her to the theater 
or to parties, she was quite contented. She neither 
asked, nor appeared to expect, any thing further. 
So that, though we saw each other every day, and 
were together a good deal of the time, we were as 


THE YOKE OF THE THOR AH. 259 

far as possible from being intimate. Our real, 
innermost selves never approached each other. In 
fact, she and my uncle were much more intimate 
than she and I. He was always having her to sit 
with him in his study, where he would talk to her 
of the subjects that interested him, or get her to 
read aloud to him, or to act as his amanuensis, and 
write under his dictation. She thought my uncle 
was a ‘ perfectly adorable old man ’ ; and he called 
her ‘ the light of his declining years.' 

I, meanwhile, lived my own life, such as it was, 
in silence. But it was not much of a life. It was not 
especially enjoyable, and it was altogether valueless. 
I produced nothing, accomplished nothing, was of no 
earthly use or benefit to anybody in the world — ex- 
cept a sort of convenient appendage to my wife. 
My favorite occupation — the only one that I cared 
any thing about — consisted in getting away by 
myself, and reading. My studio was my castle. 
Once inside it, with the door closed behind me, I 
was sure of not being disturbed. L had forsworn 
my painting, as I fancied, for good and all. I had 
got utterly discouraged about it, had lost all zest in 
it, had vowed never to return to it. But up here 
in my studio I had a lot of books ; and here for 
hours I would sit at the window, reading. My 
appetite for reading had recently become vora- 
cious, insatiable. I can’t convey to you an idea of 
how dependent I was upon my books. They were 
the world in which I lived, moved, had my being. 
Away from them, I kept thinking about them, long- 


26 o 


THE YOKE OF THE THORAH. 


ing to get back to them. Not that I derived so 
much pleasure from them, but simply that I was 
unhappy unless I had them. They were to me, I 
suppose, in my dead-and-alive condition, something 
like what his drug is to an opium-eater — not so 
harmful, of course, but just as indispensable : a 
stimulant, which I could not do without. What 
the books were, doesn’t matter. All sorts, from the 
latest sensational novel, or wildest exposition of 
spiritualism, up to Milton and the Bible. Yet, 
perhaps, I ought to give you the names of some of 
these books, for some of them produced a very 
deep and vivid impression upon me, and no doubt 
contributed more or less to my subsequent state of 
mind — helped, I mean, to bring it on. Well, I re- 
read Wilhelm Meister j and I read for the first 
time Rousseau’s Confessions^ de Musset’s La Con- 
fession <Lun Enfant du Siecle^ and Browning’s Inn 
Album -and The Ring and the Booky besides many of 
his shorter poems. I mention these five particularly, 
because they were the ones that had really strong 
effects. They stirred me ; pierced to my heart, 
and hurt me ; where other books merely interested 
or amused me. What I mean is, they appealed to 
my emotions, where other books merely appealed to 
my intelligence. Especially Browning. When I read 
Browning, the exhilaration was almost physical. It 
was like breathing some vivifying atmosphere, like 
drinking some powerful elixir. It made me glow 
and tingle through and through. It was as though 
the very inmost quick of my spirit had been touched, 


THE YOKE OF THE THORAH. 


261 


and made to throb and thrill. I had never sup- 
posed, I would never have believed, that any book 
could possibly have exerted such a profound 
and irresistible influence over the reader. My 
sensation was like an acute pain, that yet 
somehow verged toward — not^ pleasure — some- 
thing deeper and better than pleasure. No 
music, not even Beethoven’s or Wagner’s, ever 
moved me, ever carried me away, as these poems 
of Browning’s did. They literally transfixed me, 
magnetized me, like the spell of a magician. The 
reason was, of course, partly because the poetry 
is in itself so great ; so intense, so penetrating, so 
vibrant with the living truth, so warm with human 
blood and passion ; and I don’t believe that any 
man could read it understandingly without being 
affected by it very much as I was. But the reason 
was also partly personal. In The Ring and the 
Book I found expressed, in clear, straightforward 
language, all those deep, strenuous emotions which 
I myself had experienced in my love of you, which 
had always groped and struggled for expression, 
but which to me had always been inexpressible — 
yearnings which I had felt with all their force and 
ardor, which I had labored hard to speak, but which 
I had never been able to speak, any more than as if 
I had been dumb ; which, pent up in my heart, and 
straining for an outlet, had sought one by means of 
broken syllables, glances, caresses. In The Ring 
and the Book I found them expressed ; found my 
own unutterable secrets uttered. Oh, if only when 


262 the yoke of the THOR ah. 

you and I were together I had had The Ring and 
the Book to read aloud to you from ! Then, per- 
haps, I could have made you feel how deeply, 
utterly, I loved you. In the Inn Album, too, an- 
other chapter of my own story was told, more of my 
own secirets were laid bare. The material conditions, 
the circumstances, the accidentals, to be sure, were 
totally different ; but the essentials seemed to me the 
same. A man had irretrievably wronged a woman 
— a noble, beautiful woman, who loved him and 
trusted him. A lover had acted basely toward his 
sweetheart. And there, also, I found an expres- 
sion for my remorse and my despair. But now I 
am anticipating. For the present- these thoughts 
had not come to me — the thought of you, and of 
what had been between you and me, and of how I 
had wronged you. I mean to say, they had come 
to me after a fashion ; now and then, spasmodic- 
ally, by fits and starts ; but they had not pierced 
more than skin-deep, and they had not taken fast 
hold. They had come and gone. Later on, they 
came and staid — like coals burning in my heart. 
For the present, I did a great deal of reading and 
scarcely any thinking. Sometimes, it is true, in- 
stead of reading, I would sit still, looking out of 
the window, and carrying on a certain mental pro- 
cess which might perhaps have been called think- 
ing : but it was the sort of thinking known as moon- 
ing. I mean it was vague, listless, purposeless ; it 
had no vigor, no point ; and it bore no result. 
You, and our love, and the misery I had caused 


THE YOKE OF THE THORAH. 263 

you, were the subjects of it, yes ; but it was like 
thinking in a fog. It had not grown intense and 
clear. It had not crystallized. It awoke in my 
breast a sort of sluggish, languid melancholy, in- 
stead of the pain that I ought to have felt, and 
by and by did feel — and feel now, and so long as I 
live shall feel. Whatever there is in me that is not 
wholly bad and callous, what I suppose would be 
called my better nature, was just preparing to wake 
up ; and these were the dull, premonitory throes. I 
was just beginning to come to myself, out of a long 
lethargy. My remorse was just beginning to 
kindle. It had not yet sprung into the white-hot 
continuous fire that it has since become." 

In another place he says : “ As I write to you 
now, what I am trying hard to do, is to get at close 
quarters with the real, bare truth ; to look straight 
and steadily at it ; and to tell you, as clearly and 
as calmly as I can, what I see. But the truth is so 
deep and subtle, though so unmistakable ; and I 
am so unused to writing ; and it is so hard for me 
to keep down my feelings, that I can’t seem to find 
the right words. After I have written a sentence, 
when I come to read it over, it seems almost as 
though I might as well not have written at all. 
What I write does not express half clearly, or fully, 
or forcibly enough what is in my mind. So I 
can’t help fearing that you may not understand. 
Yet my desire that you shall understand is so 
strong, I am so serious, so much in earnest, I can 
hardly believe it possible that my words can entirely 


264 the yoke of the thorah. 


fail to show you what I mean. If they should do so, 
if in this letter I do fail to make you understand, 
then I will say this : the only purpose that I have 
left in life will be defeated. That is the only 
object that I care to live for : to make you 
understand. Oh, I beg of you, try to understand. 
I have no right to ask you to do any thing, to ex- 
pect any kindness, any common mercy even, from 
you : and yet I do ask, I implore you to read 
this letter through, and to try to understand what 
I am trying to express. Not a single line is writ- 
ten which I do not feel in the bottom of my heart. 
I am striving honestly, with all my might, to strip 
my soul naked before you. And when what I write 
seems feeble or obscure, please endeavor to pierce 
through to the meaning and the feeling of it. You 
have a kind and pitiful heart ; and if a human 
being, no matter how low or base, called out to you 
in great pain to stoop and do a little thing — a little, 
easy thing — to soothe and relieve him, I know you 
would do it. Well, that is the way I call out to 
you now, and beg you to read and try to under- 
stand my letter. As I write, I feel like a dumb 
man, his heart big and sore with something that 
presses desperately to be spoken, laboring to speak. 
Well, what I want to make you understand is this. 
Very slowly and gradually, by imperceptible degrees, 
a great change was coming over me, was being 
wrought m me. This change was really nothing 
but a return to health, mental and moral health. 
Ever since that night on which we were to have 


THE YOKE OF THE THORAH. 265 

been married, I had been mentally and morally 
sick — in an unhealthy, unnatural state. My moral 
nature, and many of my mental faculties, had lain 
torpid and inactive, as if deadened — had not per- 
formed their functions. Well, health was now 
slowly returning to them, health and vitality. The 
depths of my spirit — it is a canting phrase, but it 
expresses exactly what I mean — the depths of my 
spirit, which had long lain stagnant, were being 
stirred. I had always comprehended, as a mere 
intellectual proposition, how much you must have 
suffered. It was obvious. Dull and half stupefied 
as I was, I could not help comprehending that. It 
was like two-and-two-make-four. But the compre- 
hension had got no further than my brain. It had 
not touched my heart, and made it shudder with 
horror, and burn with remorse, for my own base- 
ness, and for the agony that I had inflicted upon 
you, as it has done since. I had comprehended, 
but I had not felt it. My love of you had been 
struck dead ; and my imagination — or whatever 
the faculty is, which causes us to sympathize with 
another’s pain — was failing to act. So I had gone 
about the daily affairs of my life, in no wise troub- 
led or affected by the fact, which I was perfectly 
aware of, that you, at the same time, in solitude, 
were suffering the worst sorrow possible in the 
world — yes, absolutely the worst ; I know it. I 
had gone about, and got what apology for enjoy- 
ment, what vulgar amusement, I could, out of life ; 
had eaten, drunken, talked, laughed, read, smoked, 


266 the yoke of the thorah. 

paid calls, listened to music, all precisely as though 
you did not exist, never had existed ; and finally I 
had become engaged and married ; and all the 
while I knew what hopeless, speechless anguish 
you were enduring, thanks to me ; I knew it, 
but did not care. Now and then I would think of 
it ; but so dead was my heart, the thought never 
aroused a single throe of pain in it. I thought of 
it on the night of my wedding. In the midst of the 
dancing, in the midst of the loud, romping merri- 
ment, I thought : ^ What is she doing at this 

moment ? ’ But it was nothing like sympathy or self- 
reproach, that prompted me. It was a sense of the 
curious incongruity. I shrugged my shoulders, 
said to myself that I could not help it, and went on 
dancing. This will show you how low I had 
sunken, how callous I had become ; and you may 
imagine how I despise myself, how I hate 
and abhor myself, as I recall it now. Oh, my 
God ! my God ! — Christine, for God’s sake, 
when you read this, don’t harden against me, 
because of it, and refuse to read any more. Don’t 
stop reading. For God’s sake, in mercy to me, go 
on reading to the end. Don’t close your ears 
against me, and refuse to listen. The only allevi- 
ation of my torments that I have, is the hope that 
you will read this letter through, and understand 

how I have repented Well, as I say, 

this state of being was now slowly, gradually, 
changing. Not a day passed now but I would 
think of you, and of every thing that had been 


THE YOKE OF THE THORAH 267 

between you and me, from the beginning to the 
end ; and now these thoughts did arouse pains in 
my heart — vague pains, that I did not understand 
— dull pains, such as one feels in sleep, or while 
under the influence of an opiate — but still, certainly, 
pain. As I said before, I was only just beginning 
to come to myself. My realization of what I had 
done, of what you had suffered, of what I had 
made you suffer, had not yet crystallized. My love 
had not yet waked up. My remorse had not yet 
got really afire. But all of a sudden, one day, the 
complete change came. The change was precipi- 
tated. 

“It was a Friday afternoon late in February, 
a year ago — dark, rainy, warmish. My wife had 
gone to the rehearsal at Steinway Hall. I had 
agreed to meet her in the lobby, at the end, and 
bring her home. All day long, that day, I had done 
nothing but mope. I had sat at my studio window 
looking out into the gray, wet park, or up into the 
heavy, inky clouds, and giving myself over to the 
blues — thinking that there was the world, full of 
interests and activities, the same world that I had 
used to find so pleasant, and in which I had hoped 
to work and to be of service, the same world quite 
unaltered ; and that yet, somehow, unchanged as it 
appeared to be, it had changed totally for me, had 
lost all its flavor for me, all its attraction for me ; 
the light, the spirit, had died out of it. I got no 
pleasure from it. I was of no use in it. I was so 
much inert, obstructive stuff and lumber. Then, 


268 


THE YOKE OF THE THORAH. 


why did I continue to exist ? Neither useful nor 
happy, what excuse for being had I ? Why should 
I not at once be annihilated and done away with ? 
etc., etc. This was the strain that my mind had 
been running in all day long. Then, toward five 
o’clock, I put on my hat and walked around to Stein- 
way Hall to wait for Tillie. It was singular, and 
even now I can not account for it by any ordinary 
theory, that, as I stood there in the lobby waiting, 
while the audience, mostly women, passed out, I 
was conscious of a strange trembling of the heart, 
such as one feels in anticipation of some momentous 
event, such as usually accompanies what we call a 
presentiment — a presentiment that something por- 
tentous for our good or for our evil is about to 
happen. I could not understand it at all. I could 
not imagine what it was caused by. And yet, not- 
withstanding, I could not subdue it. It went on 
from moment to moment getting more intense ; 
troubling me, perplexing me. I concluded that it 
must be the wind-up and climax of my blues, just 
as a dull, dark day sometimes winds up and reaches 
its climax in a thunder-storm. I said to myself, 
* You have not felt any thing like this for nearly a 
year. This is the sort of thing you used to feel 
when you were in love — after you had rung Chris- 
tine’s door-bell, while you were waiting and chafing 
for the door to be opened.’ Meantime the audience 
were pouring out past me, laughing, chatting, greet- 
ing their acquaintances, putting up their umbrellas ; 
and I was keeping a look-out for my wife. When, 


THE YOKE OE THE THORAH. 269 

all of a sudden, my heart, which had been trembling 
in the way I have described, all of a sudden it gave 
a great, terrible leap, and then stood stock still ; and 
I could not breathe nor move, but was literally 
petrified, rooted to the spot, and felt a fearful pain 
begin to burn in my breast. For I saw — I saw you. 
Oh, my God ! I saw you come out of the hall, and 
move slowly through the lobby, passing within 
almost a yard of me, so that I could have stretched 
out my hand and touched you, so that, if I had 
whispered your name, you would have heard me, 
and saw you go down the stairs and disappear in 
the street. I stood there with* wide, staring eyes 
and parted lips, like a man turned to stone. ^ How 
shall I ever disentangle, and put before you in some 
sort of consecutive order, the great crowd of 
thoughts and emotions that suddenly, and all at the 
same time, broke loose in my heart and brain ? In 
that brief interval — it could not have been more 
than a minute altogether — I lived through almost 
every thing that I have lived through since. It 
was all compressed into that minute. I shall try 
hard to give you some sort of an account of it, to 
make it as clear and as comprehensible as I can. 
But I know that, however hard I try, I shall only be 
able to give you a very meager and faint conception. 
If I could only see you, and speak to you — if for one 
moment I could kneel down at your feet, and touch 
your hand, and look into your face, and utter one 
long, deep sigh — oh, I should feel then as though I 
had in some degree expressed what was,and has been 


270 


THE YOKE OF THE THORAH. 

ever since, in my heart and mind. Sometimes, when 
I have listened to certain pieces of music, I have felt 
that in them was the expression for my unspeakable 
emotions. I have felt this about some of Chopin’s 
impromptus and nocturnes — that if I could some- 
how make you hear them, you would somehow 
understand. Do you know the Impromptu in 
C-sharp minor ? That sometimes seems to express 
almost perfectly my grief and passion and remorse 
and hopeless longing. But — but to touch your 
hand, and look into your eyes, and sob at your 
feet — I would be willing to die at the end of one 
minute spent that way. But see — see how I am 
compelled to sit here, away from you, and real- 
ize that never, never, so long as I live, shall I 
be allowed to approach you, or speak to you. 
Can you imagine the agony it is, to yearn 
with your whole soul to speak one word to a 
woman ; to have your whole soul and heart and 
mind burdened with something that burns like fire, 
and will never cease burning until you have emptied 
soul and heart and mind at her feet ; and to know 
that she is scarcely a mile distant from you, in the 
same city with you ; and yet to know that if she 
were dead she would not be further removed from 
’you, it could not be more impossible for you ever 
to approach her, ever to speak with her ? Can you 
imagine that ? Oh, sometimes I can not believe it — 
believe that facts can be so inexorable. Sometimes 
it seems against nature that a man’s whole strength, 
whole life, can be concentrated in one single wish, 


THE YOKE OF THE THORAH. 


271 


and yet the fulfillment of that wish be absolutely 
beyond hope. It is too stupendous, too monstrous. 
Oh, to think ! To think that at this very moment 
you, your own living self, are almost within reach 
of my voice ! It would not take half an hour to 
bring me to your side. And once there, once in 
your actual presence — Oh, my God ! This unceas- 
ing agony would be ended, this unutterable agony 
would be uttered. We two should be together 
once again — you and I. Oh, the joy, the joy, to 
sob out all our grief together, and soothe each 
other’s pain ! And yet, if I were at the other 
extremity of the earth, or if you were dead, it 
could not be more impossible, I could not be more 
hopeless. Christine ! 

“ But there ! I am losing control of myself, cry- 
ing out and raving in my despair. But what I have 
set myself to do, is to keep perfectly calm, and, by 
the aid of all my forces, to try to give you a clear 
statement of what I have been through. If I ever 
succeed in making you realize how thoroughly I have 
understood your pain, how completely I have appre- 
ciated the enormity of my own conduct, and how 
bitterly I have repented it, I shall be almost happy, 
and I shall have discharged a duty toward you — the 
only duty that I have a right any more to owe you. 

“ Well, now, I tell you that in that one minute — 
in the time that elapsed from the instant I first 
caught sight of you, down to the instant when you 
disappeared in the street below — in that minute, 
with intensity proportionate to the rapidity, I lived 


272 


THE YOKE OF THE THORAH. 


through nearly every thing that I have lived through 
since. All my vivid realization of how utterly base 
I myself had been, and of your unspeakable agony, 
caused by me, your despair, your humiliation; all my 
remorse, my yearning to atone for what could never 
be atoned for, to repair the irreparable wrong that I 
had done ; all my sense of what I had wantonly flung 
away, and lost beyond recovery ; all my despair ; 
in a word, all my love — love that had lain stunned, 
as I supposed dead^ but now suddenly had come to, 
never to let me rest any more : these, and much 
else that I shall not attempt to reduce to words, 
these were what sprang upon me all at once, shak- 
ing my soul to its foundations, and holding me 
rigid, horrified, in their grasp. Oh, help me to find 
an expression for what strains so hard to be spoken. 
I have just read over what I have written. It 
sounds vague, cold, formal. If I had left the paper 
blank, it would have done about as well. What I 
have written conveys only the weak echo of what 
I want to say, of what I feel. I stood there in the 
lobby of Steinway Hall ; and I watched you pass 
under my eyes ; and I saw how pale you were, how 
large and dark and sorrowful your eyes were ; and 
suddenly I knew, I understood, how I, my very self, 
had made you suffer, you whom I loved, and how 
never, never, no matter how long I anight live, could 
I in any way do any thing to soothe you, to comfort 
you, to make up to you for the suffering I had caused 
you ; I knew and understood all this ; and my heart 
went out to you, bounding and burning with a 


THE YOKE OF THE THORAH. 


273 


thousand fierce emotions, with an anguish of 
remorse and love — oh, my sweet, injured lady 
beautiful, frail Christine ! — and now, now when 
I try to give you some faint idea of it, I am as 
helpless to do so, as if I were trying to scream out 
in a nightmare, and my voice failed me, and my 
tongue clove to the roof of my mouth. What if I 
had trampled down all conventional restraints, and 
then and there, in spite of the crowd, in spite of 
every thing, had rushed forward and stopped you, 
and thrown myself upon the ground before you, 
abasing myself at your feet, and just moaned out 
loud — letting it all burst forth in one good, deep, 
satisfying sob ? My heart throbs hard at the 
thought. Yet, of course, I had no right to do it. 
If I had done it, I should only have relieved myself, 
at the cost of paining you — you whom, God knows, 
I have already pained enough. . . . Oh, 
well, I must try to do my best with pen and 
ink. Well, as I say, I stood there, breathing 
heavily, at last, after many months of death, 
at last alive, I stood there like that, when — 
when my wife came up, and took my arm, and 
demanded, startled by my appearance, what the 
matter was. My wife ! And I had just seen you ; 
and my soul was full of you, you whom I had 
wronged and lost ! And here was my wife, taking 
my arm, speaking to me, emphasizing the antith- 
esis. The past and the present ! What I had 
given up, and what I had got in place of it ! After 
my glimpse of you, the reality — Tillie ! Oh, it was 


274 THE YOKE OF THE THORAH. 

as though a starving man had just seen bread, 
smelled meat, and then, looking into his own hand, 
had found a stone there. She took my arm ; and 
I turned her question as best I could ; and I led 
her home. Conceive how, as I walked home from 
Steinway Hall this Friday afternoon, the ghost of 
a certain other Friday afternoon bore me company. 
One Friday afternoon, only a little more than a year 
earlier, in December, 1882, you had gone with me 
there, to hear the Damnation of Faust. Do you 
remember ? You had sat at my side, close at my 
side. You had looked into my eyes, had touched 
my arm, had spoken to me. The sweetness of the rose 
that you wore in your bosom, had filled my nostrils. 
For one instant, one delirious instant, your breath, 
your very breath, had fallen upon my cheek ! You 
had allowed me to wrap you in your cloak, when 
you felt a draught — in the fur circular you used to 
wear ; I remember the faint perfume that always 
clung to it. We were so intimate, so confidential, 
you and I ! You were happy. And I loved you ; 
and I had the possibility of winning your love open 
before me. And now ! God, to think that the 
possibility which that afternoon held safe in store 
for me, had been used and wasted ! To think that 
by no remaining possibility it could ever be won 
back ! Every thing was destroyed. I myself, by 
my own voluntary act, had destroyed every thing — 
even hope. Well, well, my wife and I walked 
home. My brain and my heart were burning. 
Chaos was let loose in them. I wanted to scream 


THE YOKE OF THE THOR AH. 275 

out, to beat my breast, to rend my garments. But 
I had, instead, to put on an indifferent face, 
exchange commonplaces with her, take her 
home ; and, it being Sabbath by this time, had to 
join in the praying and the Scripture-reading, and 
all that. Of course, I was eager, wild, to get away, 
by myself. But I had to sit it out with the family 
— my wife, her mother, my uncle — till ten o’clock 
that night. I was pretty nearly beside myself. 
But at last I escaped, and got into my studio. 
There is no use my writing about that night, the 
night I passed alone up here in my studio — alone 
with you ; for, so intense was my thought of you, 
you were all but palpable at my side. I had given 
you back, as I supposed, all your letters — every 
keepsake I had to connect me with the past. But 
this night, as the reward of much ransacking, I 
found in the drawer of my desk the very first note 
you had ever written me, the one in which you 
said you would go with me to the exhibition. Do 
you remember ? How we walked up and down the 
galleries ? And how you leaned upon my arm ? And 
the little red bonnet that you wore ? And how, 
afterward, we went to Delmonico’s ? That little 
note, ever since, has been the most precious of all 
my possessions. Your own hand traced these let- 
ters ! Your own breath fell upon this paper ! 
What effect it had upon me that night, I shall not 
attempt to tell you. Think of this : it still kept a 
faint trace of its fragrance — of the sweet smell it 
had had, when you first sent it to me. That iha^ 


276 THE YOKE OF THE THOR AH. 

should have remained, that immaterial, evanescent 
perfume ! That that should have outlasted the 
rest ! No ; there is no use of my writing a line 
about that night. I should only be incoherent, if I 
tried. All I will say is this : if you had cared about 
revenge, and had witnessed my suffering that* 
night, you would have been satisfied.” 

Still elsewhere, he goes on as follows : “ Chris- 
tine, what I want to say to you is very simple. 
1 don’t understand why I should have so much 
difficulty in saying it, why every attempt I make at 
saying it should be such a wretched failure. I sup- 
pose it is because, when I bring my mind to bear 
upon it, when I look it squarely in the face, it ap- 
palls me so, I get so excited, my feelings get 
so wrought up, that I lose the self-command 
which a man must retain, in order to express 
himself clearly and fully with his pen. It is as if, 
instead of saying what I have to say, fluently and 
directly, I were to falter, and stammer, and gasp 
forth inarticulate, unmeaning sounds. If only the 
impossible were not impossible ; if only the hope- 
less were not hopeless ; if for one minute I could 
stand in your presence,- alone with you, and look 
into your eyes, and touch your hand, and speak 
one word to you — just call you by your name, 
Christine ! — or, no, not even do that, not even 
speak, but simply stand there silent, and look at 
you : then, I feel sure that somehow you would 
understand, and then I could find something like 
peace. You would understand by instinct, by in- 


THE YOKE OF THE THOR AH. 277 

tuition, what my mind and heart are full of. If 
such a meeting might only come to pass ! But I 
do not delude myself. I know that it never can 
come to pass — never, not if we go on living in the 
same city for fifty years. Constant and intense as 
my longing to see you is, fiercely as my heart beats 
at the thought of meeting you, I know that I might 
as well long to see, think of meeting, one who is 
dead. I am a married man, and have no right to 
seek to see you. But even if I were not a married 
man, you, whose scorn and hatred of me must be 
bottomless, you would spurn me, you would refuse, 
shuddering, to look at me, or to listen to me. I 
know it. Even if you ever, in your holy goodness 
and mercy, can forgive me in some degree for 
what I have done, I know you never can forgive 
me enough to let me approach you, to let me speak 
to you by word of mouth. The mere idea of meet- 
ing me, I suppose, must always be full of horror 
for you. I can never atone for the wrong I have 
done you. I can never even tell you of my re- 
morse, and beseech your forgiveness, except by 
writing. So I write, begging you, in charity, to 
read and to try and get my meaning. If it were 
not for the hope that you will read this letter 
through, I believe my agony would drive me mad. 
This hope is the only thing that mitigates it, and 
makes it bearable. 

“ Well, then, here is the simple truth, told as sim- 
ply as, by my utmost effort, I can tell it. For a 
period of some months, I had been in a condition 


THE YOKE OF THE THOR AH. 


which you must let me compare roughly to som- 
nambulism — a sort of daze, a dull, half-waking 
trance. While in that condition, a great number 
of my mental and moral faculties had lain abso- 
lutely dormant — just as much so, as if I had not 
possessed them. From that unconscious fit into 
which I fell on the night of our wedding, I had 
never perfectly recovered. My body had recov- 
ered, yes, and a part of my mind — the every-day, 
working part. But the rest of my mind, the better 
part of it, had never emerged from the coma which 
it sank into then. And during this period, I 
want to say, I do not think I was, in the 
ordinary sense, responsible for what I did. I was 
mentally responsible : that is, I knew what I was 
doing, and I chose to do it. But I was not exactly 
morally responsible, because morally I was blind. 
My moral sense — my heart and conscience, I mean, 
were in a state of suspended animation ; and I acted 
without their guidance. I don’t say this with 
a view to excusing myself. I say it, because I 
honestly believe that it is true, and because, to 
some extent, it accounts for my otherwise unaccount- 
able way of acting. Well, let me call it somnambu- 
lism. Then, on that Friday afternoon, when I so 
unexpectedly caught sight of you in the lobby of 
Steinway Hall, there, at that instant, all of a sudden, 
I woke up; I came to my senses, in heart and mind 
was my complete self again. And awaking in this 
way, getting my moral eyes opened, my moral fac- 
ulties into running order, I then for the first time, 


THE YOKE OF THE THOR AH 279 

saw, realized, understood, what, while in that irre- 
sponsible, somnambulistic state, I had done. Dum- 
foundered, aghast, I saw the ruin I had wrought 
— ruin of your life, your world, and of mine — 
' total, hopeless ruin. I have read of a man who 
dearly loved his wife, and who, one night, in his 
sleep, got up and murdered her. When he awoke 
next morning, and found her lying dead beside him, 
and made the horrible discovery that he himself 
had done it — well, he must have felt a little as I 
felt after I had seen you that day at Steinway 
Hall. And the worst of it — the aspect of it 
which was most unbearable, most infuriating 
— was this knowledge, that loomed up before me, 
as big and as unalterable as a mountain of granite : 
the knowledge that what I had done could never be 
undone ; that the desolation to which I had re- 
duced our world, could never be repaired ; that, 
no matter how bitter my remorse was, no mat- 
ter how poignant my regret, I could never atone 
for the wrong I had committed, never could win 
back again the treasure I had thrown away. It 
was a mountain of granite, I say, against which, 
frantically, with all my puny strength, I dashed 
myself ; thereby making no impression, but falling 
back, bruised, stunned, disheartened. My knowl- 
edge now of your suffering, my knowledge of how 
I had made you suffer, and that, though my whole 
life yearned toward you with tenderness, love, con- 
trition, unutterable, I never in all my life could do 
the slightest, smallest thing toward making amends 


28 o the yoke of the thorah. 

to you, toward soothing the pain, healing the 
wounds, that I had inflicted upon you — upon you, 
my pale, sweet lady — oh, I ask you to imagine how 
heavily that knowledge weighed upon my spirit, 
how sharp its clutch was, how it would never let 
me rest, never allow me a moment of forgetfulness, 
but clung constantly and grimly, a monster with 
which it would be futile for me to hope to struggle. 
That last meeting between us, when you came here 
to my studio, to this very room, to the room I am 
writing in now, and I here, in my uncle’s presence, 
threw you down and trampled upon you, and al- 
lowed him to lead you away, crushed and bleeding 
— that last meeting, when I still had it in my power 
to spare you all that shame and sorrow, to take you 
in my arms, and quiet all your pain, and kiss away 
all your fear, and to keep you — keep you for myself 
— oh, you may imagine how my memory of that 
meeting, my realization of how I had hurt and hu- 
miliated you, my recognition of the wasted possibil- 
ities it had held, would not out of my heart, but 
abode there all the time, eating into it like acid. 
The walls and ceiling of the room, which had been 
witnesses of that last meeting, seemed eternally to 
be crying it out at me. When I looked at the floor, 
it was as if I saw a blood-stain there where you had 
stood. Oh, to think that there for one long minute 
you did really stand, you yourself, within arm’s- 
reach of me ; and I might have put out my hand, 
and touched you, and taken hold of you, and kept 
you to me forever, but did not ! To think that 


THE YOKE OF THE THORAH 281 

I let you go ; and you went ; and I did not call you 
back ! Oh, God, if I had only come to my senses 
soon enough to have called you back ! But no, 
no ; you went ; and there was an end of it all. 
Love, happiness, hope, all went out with you. I 
drove you out. I drove them out. Christine, for 
every single pain that I inflicted upon you at that 
meeting, I ask you to believe, I have never ceased 
to pay with the acutest anguish that I am capable 
of feeling. That spot on my floor where you stood 
— ah, God, how many thousand times have I kissed 
it since ! Ah, God, if there were only some power 
in earth or heaven that could bring you back there, 
make you stand there, again, for just one minute 
more ! And it was I — I, whose soul goes out to 
you with an immensity of love that I can not find 

words for I, who would give all the rest of my 

life for the privilege of caressing and comforting 
you for a single instant — I, whose place it was to 
shield you and protect you — I myself, who drove 
you away from here, heart-broken, never to return. 
Oh, my beautiful, pale darling ! Christine, lost, 
lost forever ! Here am I, my heart bursting with 
the desire to be, in some way, of some sort of serv- 
ice to you ; and there are you, needing perhaps 
some little service : and yet if we were upon differ- 
ent planets, it could not be more impossible for me 
ever to lift my finger in your aid ! Oh, I say, it is 
infuriating. It is too much. Oh, if I could tear 
open my breast, and let you look in, and see ! — see 
the love, the remorse, the despair, that are stirring 


282 the; yoke of the thorah. 

in perpetual fever there. . . . Oh, the misery 

I caused you ! The long, hateful days that you 
had to drag through afterward, while I was amus- 
ing myself, dining out, learning to dance, getting 
engaged and married ! Far and wide, as far as 
your eye could see, the world, which had been a 
fair and fragrant garden in your sight, had crum- 
bled suddenly to a bleak waste of dust and ashes. 
The hand that you loved had dealt you a blow 
worse than a death-blow. You had entrusted your 
happiness to me, and I had betrayed my trust ; had 
taken it, and deliberately dashed it to the ground, 
and shattered it beyond possibility of mending. 
My frail, beautiful lady. Yes, if I had stabbed 
you with a knife, I should not have been so brutal, 
so base, so cruel ; your pain would not have been 
so great ; I should have less to reproach myself 
with to-day. Yes, I know it.” 

But, the reader may curiously ask, how about 
his theology ? his belief that it had been the act of 
heaven ? This question he touches upon only inci- 
dentally, and disposes of briefly : “ In the light 

of my resuscitated love, the mere remembrance 
of that blasphemous delusion filled me with 
loathing for myself — made me shudder, and 
draw back, sickened. It was a monstrous lie. I 
can not bring myself to write about it.” And on 
another page, he says : “ My superstition was the 
dragon, whose breath poisoned our joy, withered 
our world, burned out our hearts. The dragon was 


THE YOKE OE THE THOR AH. 283 

killed at last, but too late — after its ravages had 
been accomplished, after it had done its worst.” 

I may seize this opportunity, also, to request that 
if Elias is not always so scrupulous about his syn- 
tax and rhetoric as one might wish, the reader will 
charitably pardon him, in view of the high degree 
of mental excitement under which he is manifestly 
laboring. 

“ Well,” he continues, “ after this reawakening, 
what of my life ? Externally my life went on pre- 
cisely as before. I was married. I had married of 
my own free will. I knew that, however detestable 
my marriage might now have become to me, I was 
bound in all honor and decency not to do any thing 
that could make my wife unhappy. I had already 
done mischief enough in the world. I must not, if 
I could help it, do any more. I must keep my secret. 
Though all the forces of my body and soul were 
sucked up and concentrated in that one fierce 
secret, as they were, I must not let it appear. So, the 
relations between my wife and myself went on pre- 
cisely as before ; and I tried to be a good husband 
to her, and to give her what pleasure, and spare 
her what pain, I could. The same theaters, dinners, 
parties ; the same talk about dresses, the same 
piano playing. Sometimes, even while, with as much 
nonchalance of manner as I could master, I was 
listening to her prattle, my secret would be burning 
so hot in my breast, it was a wonder to me that she 
did not guess it, or suspect it — that she did not feel 


284 THE YOKE OF THE THORAH, 


it. Sometimes, even while I was directly speaKing 
to her, answering some question that she had asked 
me, or what not, my heart was being wrung by such 
strong emotions, it seemed as though she could not 
help but divine them. It was hard work, keeping this 
constant guard over myself, wearing this mask. But, 
of course, I was in duty bound to wear it. The 
relief was immense when I could get away by my- 
self, and let it drop off. Away by myself, I could, 
any how, he myself — lead my own life, without dis- 
sembling. 

“My Own life — what was it like? Well, out- 
wardly it was a life of silence and inaction. My 
real life was an inward life — lived in my own heart. 
My heart was like a furnace. Shut up there, my 
love, my remorse, my despair at the past, my hope- 
lessness of the future, a hundred nameless, restless, 
futile fears and longings, burned steadily all 
day long from day to day. Sometimes one emotion 
would be paramount, sometimes another. Some- 
times memory would take possession of me ; and, 
seated at my studio window, with my one relic of 
you clasped in my hand, I would go back, and live 
over again all that had passed between us, from the 
day when I first saw you, down to the day when, in 
this same room, I had put you from me. Do you 
remember that day — the day I first saw you ? Do 
you remember our first speech together ? And how 
awkward I was ? and embarrassed ? Do you re- 
member the night of the party — New Year’s Eve — 
when the heel of your slipper broke off ? And how 


THE YOKE OP THE THORAH. 285 

jealous I was ? And how angry you got with me ? 
And how you scolded me ? And then— in the car- 
going home ? Do you remember your birth- 
day ? and mine ? The silk handkerchief you embroid- 
ered for me with my initials? The concerts we 
used to go to together ? and the little suppers after- 
ward ? The books we read together ? Detmold ? 
The Portrait of a Lady ? The poems you were 
so fond of ? The letters we used to write to each 
other, even when we were going to see each other 

the very same day ? Or, perhaps, 

instead of sitting still here at my studio window, I 
would leave the house, and go for a walk in the^old 
places — the places that were associated with our 
love, and now for me were sorrowfully consecrated 
by it. I would walk up Eighth Avenue, over the 
ground that I had used to cover every time I went 
to see you ; would cross the great circle at Fifty- 
ninth Street ; would come within eye-shot of your 
door, look up at your window, recall the time when 
I had had right of entrance, wonder what you were 
doing now ; would enter the park, and even seek 
out our pine-trees, and stay for a while there in 
their shadow — there, where — ! Do you remember ? 
You may imagine whether this was bitter-sweet. 
To go back to the time when you had been mine, 
wholly mine, and live over all the rapture of that time, 
in all its minute, intimate details ; and then, with an 
infinite hunger for you gnawing in my heart, to re- 
turn to the present, look into the future, and realize 
that I, by my own act, had let you go, had lost you 


286 


THE YOKE OF THE THORAH. 


forever ! You may imagine with what woe and fury, 
deep and frantic, and yet dumb, I would recall and 
repeat to myself that verse of Rossetti’s poetry : 

* Could we be so now ? ’ And there was the truth, 
the relentless truth, for me to confront, and 
reconcile myself to, if I could : ‘ Not if all beneath 
heaven’s pall lay dead but I and thou, could we be 
so now ! ’ The truth which, as I said, was like a 
mountain of granite, separating you and me. Oh, 
but at other times I could not believe that the truth 
was the truth. It was too cruel. It was incred- 
ible. It must be some hideous hallucination 
— some nightmare, that I should sooner or later 
wake up from. I could not believe that it was in the 
possible order of nature for a man and a woman to 
have loved each other as you and I had loved 
each other, and yet to have become so utterly 
lost to each other as it now seemed that we were ; 
for two human lives to have been so perfectly fused 
together, blended together like two colors upon my 
palette, and yet afterward to have become so com- 
pletely rent asunder. I could not believe it possible 
for my soul to yearn toward you and thirst for you 
constantly, as it did, and yet be debarred forever 
from any sort of communion with you. It seemed 
as though somehow, sometime, somewhere, we must 
come together — you and I once more ! — and all our 
sorrow be swept away by the great joy of our 
reunion. Oh, Christine, if it might be so ! If only 
it might be so ! At these moments my imagination 
would break the bonds of reason and fly off in day- 


THE YOKE OF THE THORAH. 


287 


dreams, long, delicious flights of fancy, visiting 
wondrous air-castles where you and I dwelt together 
— only shortly to drop back upon the awful reality. 
The reality : I married, and all your love for me, 
your priceless love for me, by my fault, turned to 
horror and hatred. And yet, in spite of the reality, 
in the very teeth of it, I would think : ‘ Well, what 
if my wife should die ? ’ As long as I am telling 
you the truth, I may as well tell you the whole truth, 
no matter how bad it may make you think I am. 
Yes, I would say : ‘What if my wife should die?’ 
And then I would repeat to myself what you had 
once said about that very same verse of Rossetti’s 
poetry : ‘ I can’t understand why it should be so 
absolutely hopeless. If they really were all alone 
together, and she saw how dreadfully he had 
suffered, I don’t understand how she could help 
forgiving him and loving him again.’ And then, 
for an instant my heart would bound with some- 
thing like hope. But only for an instant. As soon 
as my reason could make itself heard, I would 
acknowledge that I had sinned too much ever to 
expect forgiveness from you. No, it would be past 

human nature At still other times my 

uppermost feeling would be simply an intense desire 
to see you — not for any special purpose, not with a 
view to speaking to you — simply a craving for the 
sight of your face. I felt that if I could only look 
upon you for an instant, catch one brief glimpse of 
you, I should have something to remember and 
cherish, something for my heart to feed upon, which 


288 THE YOKE OF THE THOR AH. 

was feeding upon itself. It would be an agony. 
I knew that. The mere thought of it was that. 
But it would also be the nearest approach to a joy 
that I could expect. So, in the hope that I might 
see you, I would stand for hours on the corner of 
your street, in the snow, in the rain, in the hot sun 
or cold wind, watching the door of your house, 
waiting for you to pass in or out — very much as, in 
the old times, I would watch the door of a house 
where I knew that you were visiting, and wait to 
join you at your exit. (Do you remember ? And how 
surprised you always used to be?) But I was 
always disappointed. I never once saw you. I 
would walk, also, in those quarters of the city 
where ladies throng to do their shopping ; always 
searching for one face in the crowd, but never 
finding it. And I haunted regularly the rehearsals 
at Steinway Hall and at the Academy of Music, 
closely watching the audience as it passed out, 
always hoping that my experience of that after- 
noon in February might be repeated, invariably 
getting my labor for my pains. Where did you 
keep yourself? Oh, sometimes I felt that I 
positively could not live without a sight of you. 
I was starving for a sight of you. Only to see you 
for one little moment ! Only to feed my heart with 
one brief glimpse of you ! That did not seem such 
a greedy or unreasonable desire. It could do you 
no harm, provided I were careful not to be seen, as 
well as to see ; and I meant to be careful about 
that. It could do no living creature harm ; and to 


THE YOKE OF THE THOR AH, 289 

me — oh, to me it would be like a drop of water to 
a man consumed by thirst. Then my wish would 
become the father of my thought. I would say : 
‘ Surely, if I go out now, and scour the city, visiting 
every spot that in any possibility she may visit — the 
shops, the park, Fourteenth Street, Twenty-third 
Street — surely, at some point our paths will cross 
each other, and I shall see her.’ Well, I would go 
out. I would give my thought a trial. I would 
walk the streets till I was fagged out and foot-sore. 
I would come back home, with a heart sick for 
hope deferred .... What fears tormented me 
all this time, you will surely be able to conceive for 
yourself. How could I know but that you might 
have died ? One morning at the breakfast-table my 
uncle glanced up from his newspaper, and, looking 
very queerly at me, said, ‘ Here, Elias, here’s news 
for you. An old friend of yours is dead.’ With a 
horrible, sick heart-leap, I thought : ‘ Ah, she is 
dead.’ With as indifferent an air as I could put on, 
I asked, ‘ Who ? ’ He handed me the paper, 
pointing to the death notices. It cost me all my 
strength to look ; but I looked. Yes ; there I 
saw your name. Redwood. With the courage of 
despair, I read the notice. No ; it was not you ; 
it was your father. But how could I know — 
what assurance had I — that you had not died, 
too, without my chancing to learn of it ? The 
thought that you might have, got to be a fixed 
idea in my brain. There was no way by which 
I could find out. I knew nobody to whom I could 


290 the yoke of the THOR ah, 

apply for information. But at last, one day, by 
accident, in looking through a newspaper, I again 
caught sight of your name. Redwood. Ah, how 
the sight of it made my temples throb ! I read that 
you had been appointed a teacher in the Normal 
College. So, my doubts on the score of your death 
were set at rest. It may seem strange to you that I 
should care so much whether you live or die, since 
already you are as far and as hopelessly removed 
from me, as if you were dead ; yet the thought that 
you may die is the blackest of all thoughts to me. 
I don’t know why it is, but I feel that so long as 
you remain in it, the world will not be quite a blank 
wilderness to me. There is still some warmth, 
some beauty, in the light of day, which would go 
out utterly if you were to die. So long as you live, 
I want to live. It seems as though there were 
something to live for ; though I can’t tell what. 
But if you were to die — oh, God ! if she were to 
die ! I pray God to put an end to my life at once. 
Oh, don’t die, Christine. Oh, to think that if 
you were to die, I might not hear of it, and 
might go on living ! To think that I can do 
nothing to make life worth living for you ! Nothing 
to protect you from the danger of death ! To think 
that if you were lying on a sick bed, and I knew it, 
I could do nothing to soothe you, to nurse you back 
to health ! Oh, Christine ! Oh, God grant that at 
least we may both live until I have finished this 
letter, and you have read it ! I must not die, you 
must not die, until I have finished, and you have 


THE YOKE OF THE THOR AH. 291 

read, this letter .... Once in a great ^ile, 
once in six or eight weeks, or even seldomer, I 
would dream about you. These dreams were the 
one luxury of my life, being, as they were, the one 
means of escape from my life ; reversing, as they 
did, the real truth of my life. Every night, when 
I lay down to sleep, I would think to myself : 

*■ Perhaps to-night I shall dream of her. She will 
come to me in my dream.' These dreams always 
annihilated the recent past, and carried me back to 
our happy days. You were mine again, with me 
again. All was as it had been. My lost treasure 
was for a brief space restored to me. The great 
joy that I experienced in these dreams, I can not 
describe. It was boundless, unspeakable. Of 
course, to wake up in the morning, and realize that 
it had only been a dream, was hard. To wake up, 
and look* around me, and see the walls of my bed- 
room, the view from my window, and breathe the 
air, and listen to the sounds, of the morning, all 
quite unchanged, just as they had used to be in the 
old time ; and then to think how completely all the 
rest was changed — changed beyond possibility of 
retrieval — you and your love lost to me forever — 
that was hard enough. It was like a famished man 
dreaming of food, and waking up to find a stone 
in his hand. And yet — and yet, so great was the 
rapture of them, while they lasted, my dreams 
were worth purchasing at almost any price ; cer- 
tainly, at the price of the pain of waking. To see 
you, to speak to you, to touch you ; to be spoken 


292 THE YOKE OF THE THORAH, 

to, and touched, by you ; to hold your little, soft, 
warm hand in mine, to hear the music of your 
laughter, to breath the fragrance that the air caught 
from your presence, to gaze into the depths of 
your eyes, even though in a dream — it was better 
than nothing, wasn’t it ? Better than never, dream- 
ing or waking, to see you at all. So, as I say, every 
night I would hope to dream of you — notwithstand- 
ing the thought that perhaps I had no right to 
dream of you, that you perhaps would begrudge 
me the possession of you, even in my dreams ; but, 
as I say, my hope was rewarded very seldom — not 
oftener than once in every six or eight weeks. 
This was strange, seeing that you absorbed my 
mind constantly, all day long, every day. 

I believe I called my life purposeless and hope- 
iess ; but it was not exactly this. One purpose 
and one hope, each forlorn enough, I clung to. 
They furnished the only light that I could see, as I 
looked forward into the future. The same hope 
and purpose that animate me now, as I write. I 
purposed and I hoped, sometime, by some means, 
to let you know — to let you know what I have 
been trying to let you know by all this writing ; 
how thoroughly I had appreciated my own bru- 
tality and baseness, how intensely I had realized 
your suffering, and how my heart was devoured 
by remorse, despair, and love. This desire to 
let you know, was the one constant desire that 
never left me. It was like an extreme thirst, 
that would not let me rest till I had satisfied it. I 


THE YOKE OF THE THORAH. 293 

could not understand it. Even now I do not under- 
stand it. What good could it do either you or 
me ? No good to you, surely ; for the most that 
you can possibly care about, in regard to me, is to 
be let alone, and allowed to forget me. And what 
good to me? Would it give you back to me? 
Would it allay my remorse ? Not unless it could 
undo the past, and blot out the pain I had caused 
you. Would it rekindle your love ? I might as 
well expect, by my touch, to raise the dead, as ever, 
by any means, to rekindle your love. Would it 
even win for me your forgiveness ? I knew that it 
was not within the capacity of human nature, ever 
really, from the bottom of the heart, without a res- 
ervation, to forgive such wrong as I had done to 
you. This was what my reason said ; and yet, 
despite all this, I felt — and still feel, and can not 
help feeling — that somehow I ought to let you 
know, that it was only right to let you know. I 
longed to let you know. That is the substance of 
it. I longed to let you know ; and my longing 
defied my reason, just as hunger defies reason. If 
I could only let you know, it seemed as though 
both you and I should then be able to find some- 
thing like peace and repose. My soul ached to 
unbosom itself before you ; and all reasoning to 
the contrary notwithstanding, my instincts told me 
that you, as well as I myself, would be happier — at 
least, less unhappy — afterward. It was as though I 
had something big and heavy in my heart, that 
pressed to be got out ; that would strain and rack 


294 THE YOKE OF THE THORAH. 

my heart until it was got out ; and that could only 
he got out by letting you know. I suppose this is 
always the way, when a man’s heart is full of con- 
scious guilt. But how to let you know ? Oh, my 
impulses answered at once. They said : ‘ Seek her 
out. Kneel down before her. Look into her face. 
Touch her hand. Give it vent — let it all burst 
forth — in one good, long, satisfying sob ! Then, 
she will understand. She will understand what is 
too deep, too passionate, for any speech. Her 
heart and yours will be at rest. This anguish 
will be relieved.’ Oh, how my temples throb- 
bed, how my breath quickened, how my whole 
spirit thrilled, as I allowed myself to shape 
that thought. You, my frail darling, whom I had 
hurt so ! You, my sweet rose-lady, whom I had 
torn, and crushed, and made to bleed ! Christine, 
pale, sad Christine ! To spend one moment weep- 
ing at your feet, trying a little to soothe and com- 
fort and console you, to atone a little for the sorrow 
I had caused you, to pour out my love and my 
remorse before you ! Oh, good God ! But of 
course, of course, I knew that I might as well hope 
to speak with one who was dead. I, a married man, 
had no right, even in my own secret thoughts, to 
wish for such a meeting between you and me. 
And you, despising me, you would fly from me, 
you would never permit me to draw near to you. 
And yet, it is so hard to reconcile one’s self to the 
truth, even when one can have no doubt about it, 
I would go on hoping, in spite of the hopelessness, 


THE YOKE OF THE THORAH. 295 

in spite of the fact that I had no right to hope — 
hoping that somehow the impossible might come to 
pass. But at the same time, I would think : ‘ How 
else ? Is there any other way ? ’ Necessarily, it 
occurred to me to write. But the idea of writing 
was repugnant. I never could tell the half of what 
I had to tell by writing ; and then, what assurance 
had I that you would read my letter ? (What assur- 
ance have I, even now ?) So, for the time being, I 
put the plan of writing out of my head ; and went 
back, and asked again : How else ? ’ Was there no 
possible method by which I could let you know what 
weighed so heavily, so heavily, upon my mind ? 
Sometimes the most absurd notions would seize 
hold* of me, with all the force of realities. For a 
little while, this would become not merely a theory, 
as of a thing conceivable, but a conviction, as of a 
thing actual ; that, thinking of you as constantly 
and as intently as I did, by some occult means 
in nature, my spirit was enabled to transcend 
the limitations of space and matter, and to reach 
yours, and to communicate with it. For hours 
at a stretch, I would sit here at my studio win- 
dow, harboring this delicious fancy : that now, at 
this very moment, by the operation of some subtle 
psychic force, you were receiving the message 
which my heart was sending you. I had read of 
such things in wonder-tales, even in serious pseudo- 
scientific treatises. Why might there not be some- 
thing in them ? But, as I have said, only for a little 
while could a fancy like this hold its place. In a 


2g6 the yoke OF THE THOR AH. 

little while my common-sense would assert itself, 
and bring the dismal truth looming up again stark 
before me. All of a sudden, one day, I thought of 
my painting. It made my pulse leap. It seemed 
like an inspiration. I would paint a picture which 
— if you saw it ; and if I sent it to the exhibition, 
you would very likely see it — which would tell you 
the whole story. In a fever of impatience to get 
the picture begun, and without having stopped to 
determine what the picture was to be, I procured 
canvas, paints, brushes. Then I paused, and 
asked : ‘ But what shall I paint ? ’ It did not 
require much thinking, to make the futility of the 
whole design clear to me. Unless I could tear my 
heart out, and paint //, with all the fierce passions 
fermenting in it, I might as well not paint any thing 
at all. Now, at last, you see, I have returned to 
my former plan of writing. I have done so, in 
despair of any other means, and because it is no 
longer possible for me to hold back. I have held 
back until I am tired out, worn out. I have been 
writing at this letter, from time to time, during the 
past fortnight. To-day is Friday, February 13th. 
I have much left to say. As soon as it is finished, 
I shall send it to you." 

“ As soon as it is finished ! " It was never 
finished. Events now supervened, which inter- 
rupted it, and prevented its completion. Those 
events, it will be my business, in the concluding 
chapters of this story, to relate. 


THE YOKE OF THE THORAH, 


297 


XX. 

W HEN Elias professed to recognize that, no 
matter how detestable his marriage might 
now have become to him, he was bound in all honor 
and decency to do nothing that could make his 
wife unhappy, he certainly, so far as he was con- 
scious of his own intentions, meant what he said. 
Of his free will, he had married a perfectly innocent 
woman. He must not allow the burden of his 
guilt to bear in the slightest degree upon her 
shoulders. He must abide exactly by the letter, 
and, to the best of his ability, by the spirit, of his 
marriage vows. He purposed to do so ; and, so 
far as he had fathomed it, his purpose was honest 
and earnest. Yet, at the same time, inevitably, his 
life at home galled and irked him more than a 
little. His daily association with Tillie, with Mrs. 
Morgenthau, and with the rabbi, was both irrita- 
ting and enervating. He had constantly, as he put 
it, to wear a mask ; to sham, to play a part, to act 
a lie. He had to counterfeit emotioiis and interests 
which he was very remote from feeling, and to 
conceal with utmost, unflagging vigilance those that 
actually dominated his heart. He had to pretend 
to be cheerful and sympathetic. He had to keep 
the one vital reality of his existence closely locked 
down, a secret prisoner in his breast. Shamming, 
through practiced in a laudable cause, is, as those 
who have tried it can testify, a sufficiently sorry 


298 . THE YOKE OF THE THORAH. 

and thankless business. Elias sickened of it. The 
never-relaxing guard that he was obliged to main- 
tain over himself, on the perpetual qui-vive lest by 
some momentary inadvertence he should betray 
himself, wearied and discouraged him. He became 
impatient, restive. In certain moods, he would 
reflect : “ It is a part of my punishment. I have 
brought it upon myself. I deserve it. I must 
submit to it unrebelliously, in silence.” But Elias 
was not by temperament a Spartan ; and more 
frequently, longing ardently for respite, he would 
cry : “ If only for a little while I could escape ! 

If only I could go away, and, in solitude, for 
a little while, give the rein to my own true self — 
live my own true life, without this eternal necessity 
of suppression and deceit ! ” The actor wanted 
to withdraw for a moment out of view, behind the 
scenes, there, for a moment, to drop his stage- 
smile and stage-manner. Not unnaturally, it may 
be conceded. But the question was one of method. 
How ? Consistently with his resolution not to make 
his wife unhappy, how could it be done ? Gradu- 
ally a plan, simple of conception, and easy of exe- 
cution, got shaped in Elias’s mind. The plan 
itself, to be sure, involved a certain amount of false- 
hood ; but falsehood which, Elias concluded, was 
innocuous, and, under the circumstances, justifia- 
ble. 

On Monday, February 16, 1885, at the break- 
fast table, he made the following announcement to 
the persons there assembled : “ To-morrow I am 


THE YOKE OP THE THORAH 299 

going out of town. I am going down into the 
country on Long Island, to do a little winter land- 
scape painting. I shall be gone perhaps a week, 
perhaps a fortnight.” 

No opposition was offered. Such questions as 
were asked, he had anticipated, and so answered 
with consummate glibness. Next morning a car- 
riage drew up before the door. Elias, with his 
trunk and his traps, got into it, and was driven off. 
As the carriage turned the corner, he could see 
Tillie lingering on the stoop, looking after him. 
His conscience smote him gently for an instant ; 
and he renewed his vow never to do any thing 
that could bring sorrow upon his wife. “ Poor, little, 
light-hearted thing,” he soliloquized. “ It is easy 
to satisfy her — ‘ pleased with a rattle, tickled with 
a straw.’ ” And then he dismissed her from his 
mind. It is probable that, so long as he lived, he 
never once thought of her again. 

“ I don’t know why it is,” the light-hearted and 
easily satisfied Tillie, as she re-entered the house, 
confessed to her mother, “ but I feel just as blue as if 
he had gone away forever, instead of only for a fort- 
night. I feePjust perfectly wretched. I’ve been 
feeling bad enough for ever and ever so long ; but 
this is just the last straw. I don’t believe he cares 
for me the least bit in the world.” And she buried 
her face in her mother’s bosom, and had a good, 
long cry. 

Elias’s carriage drove neither to a railway-station, 
nor to a steamboat-pier. It drove to a lofty, red- 


300 THE YOKE OF THE THORAH. 

brick apartment-house (for bachelors), in West 
Forty-second Street, “ The Reginald,” where 
Elias had hired a furnished suite of rooms by the 
month. The falsehood involved by his plan had 
consisted in saying that he was going to the coun- 
try. He had no idea of quitting the city. Just so 
long as Christine Redwood remained in New York, 
New York would be the only habitable spot on 
earth to Elias Bacharach. 

The clerk of the apartment-house conducted 
Elias to his quarters, and left him there. 

Elias locked his door behind the clerk. Then, 
suddenly, he flung himself full length upon the 
floor, and gave vent to a great sigh of relief. At 
last he was alone, all alone, and free. At last he 
had got clear of the disguise, which, like a strait- 
waistcoat, he had been compelled to wear for 
upwards of a year. I don't know how long he con- 
tinued to lie there upon the floor. I don’t know 
how many times he sobbed out her name : “ Chris- 
tine ! Christine ! Christine ! ” 

Finally, however, he rose to his feet, brushed off 
and smoothed down his clothing, and descended 
to the office of the establishment, where he had 
some business to transact with the proprietor. 
Afterward, he meant to go for a walk, and feast his 
eyes for a while upon the house in which she dwelt. 
He knew this house very well. It was in Forty- 
eighth Street, between Sixth and Seventh Avenues. 
Many and many a time, during the past few months, 
he had gone there, after nightfall, and watched the 


THE YOKE OF THE THORAH. 


301 


lights glow in the windows, and wondered which 
of the lights was hers. By day, he never approached 
nearer than the nearest corner. He did not wish 
to be seen by her. He conjectured that the sight 
of him might distress her. Now, he meant, after 
finishing his business with the proprietor, to go and 
stand on that corner for awhile, and enjoy the lux- 
ury of staring at the chocolate-colored fa9ade of 
her dwelling-house. 

He found the proprietor engaged in tonversa- 
tion with a gentleman. He took a position, there- 
fore, at a respectful distance, and waited till their 
colloquy should end. He paid no heed to the gen- 
tleman’s appearance ; but afterward he recalled 
him vaguely as tall, fair-complexioned, rather 
athletic-looking, and presumably in the neighbor- 
hood of thirty years of age. Pretty soon the gen- 
tleman put on his hat, and left the room. 

“ Did you notice that party I was talking with ? ” 
the proprietor inquired of Elias. 

“ Not especially,” Elias replied. “ Why ? ” 

‘‘ Handsome chap, and one of the whitest in this 
town. Civil Engineer, of the name of Hosmer — 
R. E. Hosmer. Got an office down in the Astor 
House. He’s lived here with me going on three 
years. But this is his last day. To-morrow he 
gets married.” 

“ Ah ? ” returned Elias, with a perfunctory affec- 
tation of interest. 

“ Yes, sir, gets married, and sets up house-keep- 
ing. So I lose him ; and I’m mighty sorry to, I can 


302 the yoke of the thorah. 

tell you. He’s a gentleman, from the word go. 
But he’s caught a stunning pretty girl for a wife, 
now, and don’t you forget it. He had her here 
one night, along with some friends, to dinner ; and 
he took me up, and introduced me to her. She’s 
what I call a daisy, straight out. Well, sir, to- 
morrow morning they’re going to be married ; and 
he said he’d have invited me to the wedding, only 
it’s strictly private. No admittance except on busi- 
ness, you understand. No guests ; nothing. Well, 
that’s all right, I suppose, if people like it that way. 
No law against it, any how. But you see, I wanted 
to send her some sort of a little present, being so 
friendly with him, you understand ; and so I 
thought awhile, and finally I got this.” (The pro- 
prietor went to his safe, and, coming back in a min- 
ute, exhibited a necklace of amber beads.) “ I got 
this. Tidy, ain’t it ? But do you know. I’ll be 
hanged if I hadn’t forgotten to ask him for her ad- 
dress, until just this instant. There’s time yet, 
however ; and I’ll send it up by one of the boys 
right away. Let’s see. Ah, yes ; here it is. He 
wrote it out on this envelope.” 

Elias took the envelope which his communica- 
tive landlord offered him, and glanced indifferently 
at it. In large, clear lettters, was written : 

“ Miss Christine Redwood, 

“ No. — West 48th Street, 

“ City.” 

Elias did not start, nor exclaim, nor indeed 
make any sign by which an observer could have 


THE YOKE OF THE THORAH. 303 

guessed that what he had just read had been of any 
special import to him. He turned perhaps a little 
pale. Perhaps his lips twitched a little. Perhaps 
his attitude assumed a certain rigidity. But it was 
with an air of perfect composure that he said to the 
proprietor, “ Oh, by the way, I forgot something. 
I must go back to my room The matter I wanted 
to speak to you about — I’ll be down again about it, 
later.” With an air of perfect composure ; for, at 
this moment, like a man who has been shot, Elias 
was conscious of very little, save a sudden daze and 
bewilderment. He knew in a dull way that some- 
thing serious had happened to him. There had 
been, all at once, a shock, a thrill that pierced and 
transfixed him ; and then had come a strange 
stunned feeling ; and now — now, he must get 
away, by himself, back in his own room, at once. 

He entered the elevator, and was carried up- 
stairs. 

Automatically, he heard the elevator-man say : 
‘‘ Fine day, sir.” 

Automatically, he responded, “ Yes.” 

“But cold. Coldest of the season, I guess. 
Below zero, sir.” 

“ Indeed.” 

“Well, here you are, sir. Sixth.” 

“ Thanks.” 

Automatically, he stepped out of the elevator, 
and found his way through the corridor to his door. 
Automatically, he unlocked the door, passed it, 
locked it behind him. But then, of a sudden, his 


304 THE YOKE OF THE THOR AH. 

Strength deserted him, his* sensations rushed upon 
him, and overpowered him. He dropped upon the 
first chair he came to, and sat there, all huddled up, 
and staring blindly, like a drunken man. Indeed, 
it was not unlike a drunken man that he felt. He 
felt deathly sick. He felt an oppression upon his 
lungs, and had to labor hard for his breath. His 
head sagged forward heavily upon his chest ; his 
brain went spinning furiously round and round. 
His ears rang. A blackish, half-opaque mist hung 
before his eyes, in which the objects about him 
swam dimly, bewilderingly, to and fro. The house 
seemed to be rocking on its foundations. In his 
breast — something — a lump, big and hot, like a 
coal of fire — was struggling frantically, in spas- 
modic leaps, as if to break away, and get outside. 
At one instant he thought it would choke him ; it 
had sprung up into his throat. Again, he thought 
it would rend his very bone and flesh asunder, 
with such force it dashed itself against the walls 
that shut it in. Then, for another instant, it fell 
back, and was quiet ; but then he thought it would 
burn him up, with its intense, angry heat. Liquid 
fire went circling through his veins, scalding them, 
and causing the uttermost parts of his body to 
throb and tingle. 

So, for it may have been a half hour, he sat there 
upon that chair, limp, motionless, like one stricken 
impotent and senseless by too much wine. In the 
end, however, all at once, as if stung, he sprang up, 
and began striding wildly, with unsteady gait, back 


THE YOKE OF THE THORAH. 3^5 

and forth across his floor. He moaned aloud. 
Sometimes he would wring his hands together. 
Sometimes he would press them to his temples. By 
and by he began to talk to himself. His voice was 
husky, his articulation indistinct. His words came 
in spurts. A spectator would certainly have put 
him down for drunk. 

“ She is going to be married .... married 
.... do you understand ? Going to become the 
wife of another man. Another man is going to 
possess her .... do you understand ? That man 
.... you saw him down stairs .... he is going 
to possess her. She .... Christine .... oh, 
God help me ! . . . . Perhaps he has seen her, 
been in her presence, heard her voice, looked into 
her eyes, touched her hand, kiss .... yes, very 
likely .... kissed her .... this very day. Per- 
haps he is with her at this instant .... now .... 
he, with .... do you understand ? While you 
Oh, have mercy on me. 
Strike me dead .... And to-morrow morning she 
is going to marry him, to-morrow morning .... 
going to be married .... Well, well, it’s all right 
It’s none of my business. Yes, it’s all right. She 
can do as she pleases. I can’t help it. It’s not my 
affair .... Only .... only, I want to know 
. . . . I want to know, why 2 Why is she going to 
marry him ? Only tell me that : why does she 
want to marry him ? Not for love. No ! She 
can’t love him. It would be impossible that she 
should love him. Don’t tell me she loves him. No, 


3o6 the yoke of THE THORAH. 

no ! Why, I say, look — look at how she loved me 
— how passionately, how entirely — with what com- 
plete, absolute surrender of herself ! Why, after a 
woman has loved one man that way, I tell you, it is 
impossible, it is not in nature, for her ever to love 
another — really love another ....No!. ...I 
don’t care what her feeling toward me may be 
. . . . hatred .... indifference .... I don’t 
care what .... I know she does not .... I 
know she never can .... love him .... love 
any body else. I know it. It would be against na- 
ture — impossible .... Oh, it’s laughable. The 
idea ! that she should ever feel toward any one as 
she felt toward me ! Such perfect confidence 
.... such perfect giving of herself ! . . . . Chris- 
tine ! Oh, do you remember, Christine ? Do you 
remember how you loved me ? How your eyes 
burned with love, and your fingers clung with love, 
and your bosom rose and fell with love, and your 
voice thrilled with love ? And all our unutterable 
intimate joy ? And how you said it was like an- 
guish, it was so keen ? And .... and .... Do 
you remember ! And now, do you mean to say that 
you can ever be like that with another man — not 
me — with him — with any body ? Like that ? Lov- 
ing like that ? Oh, no, no ! Monstrous ! Impos- 
sible. No, no, you don’t love him like that. No- 
body could love twice like that. You never can 
love any one like that — any one but me. Me ! I 
am the only man who has ever tasted that sweet- 
ness — who ever shall taste it. He — oh, the poor 


THE YOKE OF THE THORAH. 307 

fool and beggar ! He may be married to you a 
thousand years. He will never taste that — which I 
have tasted — never get even the perfume of it. 
Never — never ! . . . . And yet ... . and yet, she 
is going to marry him. Oh, Christine, tell me — for 
mercy’s sake, tell me — why do you marry him ? Why 
does she want to marry him ? Oh, there may be 
a hundred reasons. But not for love. I am sure, 
not for love. Is marriage a proof of love ? Did 
I marry for love ? She pities him. That’s it. He 
loves her. He has worked upon her sympathies. 
In despair — hopeless of any happiness for herself 
— out of pity — she has consented to marry him. 
He has importuned her — tired her with his en- 
treaties — until ,she has consented But not 

for love .... Don’t tell me she loves him — that 
my own beautiful Christine — dark-eyed Christine — 
loves another man — that man. Oh, the fool,, the 
complacent fool, if he dares to imagine that ! That 
she — my glorious Christine — mine, I say — once 
mine, always mine — my own — wholly mine — weren’t 
our very souls burned together, into one ? — that 
she loves him ! Why, it makes me laugh ! The 
poor, fatuous fool ! . . . . And yet .... she .... 
she is going to marry him .... to be his wife .... 
He is going to possess her .... have the right to 
see her, hear her, touch her, every day .... while 
I — I — Oh, no ! He thinks so, does he ? I will 
show him. I will defeat him yet. It is not yet too 
late. I will go to her — I — now — at once — I will go 
to her — to Christine — yes — and see her, and speak 


3o8 the yoke of the thorah 


to her, and touch her — take her in my arms — oh, 
God ! — and tell her how I love her — and how I have 
suffered — and how I have never ceased to love her — 
and pour it all out at her feet — all my love and 
sorrow and remorse — at her feet — now — to-day — 
before it is too late — and she — she will forgive me, 
and forget all the pain I have caused her — all the 
pain and shame — poor Christine, sweet little Chris- 
tine, whom I hurt so ! — she will forgive me, and — 
and love me again — she will love me — she does love 
me — she must love me, I tell you — yes — she will 
come to me, and love me — and we — she and I — we 
will go away together — to Europe — to South 
America — somewhere — anywhere — she and I — 
Christine and I — together — we will go away to- 
gether, and — and .... Oh, what am I saying? 
God forgive me ! What a low, miserable wretch I 
am ! As if I had any power, any right ! No, no ! 
she will marry him. He will be happy. Perhaps 
he will make her happy. Why not ? He is good 
and honest and well-to-do. He loves her, and will 
be kind to her. Why shouldn’t he make her happy ? 
Oh, Christine. I hope he will. If you will only 
be happy, then I shan’t mind. God bless her, and 
make her happy. She will marry him, and she will 
love him in a certain way, in a quiet, peaceful way, 
and she will have children, and be contented, and 
live in comfort and peace — quietly — gently — for- 
getting me, and the pain I caused her, and — Oh, 
God ! Oh, God ! My punishment is greater than I 
can bear." 


THE YOKE OF THE THORAH. 


309 


He fell in an inert mass upon the floor, and 
covered his face with his hands, and moaned again 
incoherently ; until again, all at once, he sprang to 
his feet, and, striding back and forth, as before, 
again began to talk to himself. 

“ I must see her. I must see her, and let her 
know. I must see her to-day — before to-morrow 
morning — before she is married. After, that, after 
she is married, as she will be to-morrow morning — 
after that, I can never see her. She will have no 
right to let me see her — no right to think of me, 
to hear from me — a married woman — another man’s 
wife .... The letter— the letter I have been 
writing to her — she will never read it. Waste time — 
waste paper — waste effort. No use sending it. No 
use finishing it. After to-morrow morning, after 
she is married, she will have no right to receive it 

— to receive any thing from me Oh, I say, 

I must see her. If I am ever to see her, ever to 
let her know, it must be to-day. To-day, or never. 
After to-day — to-morrow — a married woman — she 
can never let me approach her — never — never .... 
Yes, to-day — right away — at once. I must see her 
right away, at once .... Oh, Love ! To think of 
seeing you — really seeing you — and speaking to you ! 
Oh, Christine — to-day, this very day, at last ! . . . . 
There, there ! Let me be calm. Let me think. 
How shall I — how can I manage it ? To see her ? 
Let me think.” 

He pressed his hands hard against his brow, 
beneath which his brain seemed to have become a 


310 the yoke of the THOR ah. 

whirlpool, sucking into black confusion every 
faculty for thought he had. He repeated two or 
three times : ‘‘ Let me think and kept crushing 

his brow between his hands, to subdue, if he could, 
that dizzy, stupid feeling. At last he went on, 
stammeringly, and in a voice which, from husky, 
had grown thin and feeble : — 

“ I must not go to see her at her house. No, that 
would not do. That would not be fair to her. 
What would people think, who saw me ? They 
might overhear what I said to her. I might not be 
able to see her alone. I might — I might meet hint 
there. No, I must not go to her house. But this 
is what I will do. I will write her a note — a little 
short note — asking her — begging her — to let me 
have five minutes’ speech with her — to come and 
give me five minutes’ speech with her — in Central 
Park — among our pine-trees in Central Park. She 
will do it. It is such a little thing, I am sure she 
will do it. She can’t have the heart to refuse to do 
it. No, no ! . . . . There ! I will write the note, 
and send it at once. In half an hour she will re- 
ceive it. She will come right away. Within two 
hours — within two hours from now — I — I shall — I 
shall see her ! ” 

With about as clear a realization of what he was 
doing as he might have had if he had indeed been 
the worse for drink, so dazed and bewildered did 
he feel, he opened his trunk, and took from it the 
materials for writing. Then, seating himself at the 
table, with a drunken man’s comprehension of what 


THE YOKE OF THE THOR AH. 


3 ” 


he wrote, upon paper that swayed boisterously up 
and down under his eyes, he dashed off the follow- 
ing note : — 

“ Christine : Just learned I have just learned 
that to-morrow morning that you are going to be 
married to-morrow morning. Please read this note 
through. There is nothing in it which will harm 
you to read. It is essential to my peace of mind 
that, before you are married, I should say some- 
thing to you, see you and say something, five 
words, which it will not take me take five min- 
utes for me to say, and which it will harm no one 
for you to hear, neither you, nor your future 
husband, but will be a great mercy to me. In 
mercy, in common pity to a suffering human being, 
I beg of you, let me see you, and say this to you. 
In mercy to one who is suffering all the agony of 
hell in life, which I know I deserve, only that does 
not make it any easier to bear, in mercy, give me 
a chance to speak with you. I don’t come to your 
house, because it would not do, would not be fair 
to you, for if he should see me there, it would be 
unpleasant for you. So, at once, as soon as you 
receive this, come to the rock among the pines in 
Central Park, and give me five minutes’ speech 
with you. It will be as great a mercy as if you 
were to give a cup of water to a man dying tortured 
by thirst. I promise to say nothing which it will 
be wrong for you to hear, or for me to say. Don’t 
be afraid of me. I shall never hurt you any more. 


312 the yoke of the THOR ah, 

I shall not try to dissuade you from marrying him. 
On the contrary, marry him, and be happy, if you 
can. Any thing so long as you are happy. I 
dare say he will make you happy. I pray God that he 
may. Only, for pity’s sake, you who have a kind and 
pitiful heart, for pity’s sake, in mercy to me, for the 
sake of the love that was between us, Christine, 
grant me this one request, which will harm no living 
man or woman, neither him nor you, nor my wife, 
and come to the rock among the pines in Central 
Park. I shall be willing to die after I have seen 
you and spoken to you. God ! I would rather die 
now than have you refuse. Come at once. I shah 
go there right away, immediately, and I shall wait 
there until you come. My soul is burning up with 
something which I must say to you, which you 
must let me say to you, Christine, and you can not 
be so hard, so' cruel, as not to come, you who have 
such a tender, kind heart, Christine. My agony is 
so great, and you can relieve it so easily, by simply 
coming for five minutes. Look, you are going to 
give him your whole life — years and years. Can’t 
you give me five minutes ? He can afford to let 
me have five minutes, he who is going to have 
years and years. Come. It is the only favor I shall 
ever ask of you. My head is so confused, queer, 
as though all my wits were scattered, I don’t know 
how to put it so as to move you to come. I seem 
to have it on the tip of my tongue, the thing to 
say that will persuade you, and then when I try to 
grasp it, and write it down, it is gone. If you 


THE YOKE OF THE THOR AH. 3^3 

understood why and how much I want you to come, 
I know you would come. I do not believe that 
you can be so hard as to refuse this to a man who 
is broken-hearted, and almost crazy with remorse, 
and who promises by all that is sacred, before God, 
gives you his solemn word of honor, not to say a 
thing which it would be wrong for you to hear, who 
are going to be married, or for me to say, who am 
married already. Gives you his solemn word of 
honor. Only, before you are married, and so eter- 
nally separated from me, worse than death, to-mor- 
row, before that, come and let me speak five words. 
If there is any mercy in your heart, you won’t dis- 
appoint me. Come at once. I am going there 
right away, now, to wait for you. The rock among 
the pines. You know. Christine ! Christine ! 
For God’s sake ! — Elias Bacharach.” 

This note, without stopping to read it over, he 
enveloped, and addressed. Then, in great haste, 
donning his hat, he left his room, and, too impa- 
tient to wait for the elevator, ran down stairs to the 
office, where he bade the clerk summon a messen- 
ger. 

“ Yes, sir,” said the clerk ; and, with a click- 
click-whir-r-r, off went the summons from the 
instrument. After which, the clerk returned to the 
dirty paper novel he had been reading. Elias won- 
dered, in a dull, hazy way, how any body could 
have the heart to read a novel. 

Pending the messenger’s arrival, he paced rest- 


314 THE YOKE OF THE THORAH. 

lessly hither and thither about the broad, marble- 
paved entrance-hall of the house, and tried to get 
the better of that queer, confused feeling in his 
head. Tried in vain, however ; for, from moment 
to moment, it grew more pronounced : a feeling of 
congestion, as though his brain was solidifying, 
turning into stone ; as though gradually and simul- 
taneously his different senses were being sealed up. 

By and by, as if through a deadening medium of 
some sort, as if through a thick blanket, he heard 
a lusty young voice shout : “ Call ? ” 

He looked. As if through a veil, he saw a boy 
in brass buttons standing in front of him. 

Yes," said Elias ; and it required a great effort 
of will to concentrate his mind sufficiently to find, 
and to regulate his organs of speech sufficiently to 
shape, the words : “Yes, come with me." 

He led the boy to the corner of Seventh Avenue 
and Forty-eighth Street. The sun shone brightly. 
There was no wind. But it was very cold. Elias 
thought : “ Perhaps it is the cold that makes me 
feel so strangely. I feel exactly as though my 
brain were being frozen, as hard as ice." 

When they had reached the corner, he said : “ Now, 
young man, I want you to take this note to this ad- 
dress, No. — , right on this block — that house, over 
there, just beyond the lamp post — and I want you 
to ask to see the lady to whom it is directed — Miss 
Redwood — to see her in person ; do you under- 
stand ? See her in person, and deliver this note 
into her own hands, and to nobody else. And then 


THE YOKE OF THE THOR AH. 3^5 

you come back here to this corner, where I shall 
wait for you. Now, hurry.” 

** Yes, sir,” replied the boy, with a sagacious 
wink ; “ I catch on, sir ; ” and started off. 

Elias watched him — down and across the street, 
and up her stoop — till he vanished in her vestibule. 
For what seemed an eternity, the boy remained out 
of sight. Then, presently, he reappeared ; and in a 
minute or two was again at his employer’s side. 

‘‘Well,” questioned Elias, “well, did — did you 
see her ? ” 

“Yes, sir ; sawr 'er.” 

It made Elias’s heart beat to realize that this 
boy had just stood in his lady’s presence, had 
looked full upon her, breathed the atmosphere 
that she glorified, listened to the celestial music of 
her voice. It was with something akin to reverence 
for the young barbarian, that he repeated : “You 
saw her, you actually saw her ! ” 

“ Well, so I remarked, sir,” replied the boy. 

“ And — and you gave her the note ? ” 

“ That’s what I done, sir.” 

“ What "did she say ? ” 

“ Say ? She didn’t say nawthing.” 

“ Nothing at all ? Not a word ? ” 

“ Well, sir, here’s how it was. I says, ‘ Redwood ? * 
and she says, ‘ Yes ; ’ and I says, ‘ Sign ; ’ and she 
signed ; and that’s all there was fo it.” 

“ She signed ? Have — have you got her signa- 
ture?” 

“ Why, certainly. Here you are.” 


3i6 the yoke of the THOR ah. 

The boy exhibited a bit of pink paper, upon 
which, in the hand that he knew so well, Elias, with 
a breath-taking thrill, read her name : “ Christine 
.Redwood.” He took the paper between his 
fingers. It was like a talisman. Her touch, 
scarcely a moment since, had warmed it, her face 
shadowed it. He had to struggle with himself, to 
keep from carrying it to his lips, and kissing it, 
then and there. 

“What — how much — will you take for this 
paper ? ” he demanded of the boy. 

“ Nawthing. Got to return it to the office.” 

“ I’ll give you a dollar for it.” 

“ Jimminy ! You must want it pretty bad.” 

“ Well, will you part with it for a dollar ? ” 

The boy reflected ; wrestled with temptation for 
an instant ; in the end said : “ Well, sir, all is, 
you’ll have to sign me another ; that’s all, sir. 
Let’s have the dollar.” He produced a duplicate 
bit of pink paper, upon which Elias executed the 
only forgery of which he was ever guilty. Then a 
bright silver dollar changed hands. Our hero 
pocketed his invaluable purchase, and set his face 
toward Central Park. 


XXI. 

B ack and forth, among the pine-trees that had 
been witnesses of the happiest moments of 
his life ; over the carpet of frozen pine-needles, 


THE YOKE OF THE THOR AH. 317 

every inch of which was holy ground to him, 
because her foot had trodden it in the past; 
through the intense cold and stillness ; Elias 
marched, waiting for her to come. Harder than 
ever was the frost that bound and benumbed his 
senses ; but in his heart, there was the heat of 
battle. Hope and doubt struggled together the^e, 
in mortal combat. 

At one instant, doubt getting the upper hand, he 
would cry : “ Will she come ? No, God help me, it 
is most unlikely. I may as well make up my mind 
to it. She will not come.” 

Next instant, hope inflaming him : She will 
come. I know she will. She has a kind and 
tender heart. She can’t find it in her to refuse. 
She will come ; and she will let me tell her how 
I love her, and how I have suffered ; and she will 
soften toward me, and forgive me. And perhaps 
her love for me will come back — and overpower 
her — and make her forget every thing else — and 
then — she — perhaps — oh, merciful God ! if — if she 
should consent ! ” 

Thus he alternated between hell and heaven. 

If he had been enabled to penetrate but a very 
little way into the future, I suspect, his thoughts 
and his emotions would have been of a quite dif- 
ferent order. 

“ I must have been here at least an hour by this 
time,” he said. “ It must be almost time for her 
to get here.” 

With stiffened fingers he drew out his watch. 


31 ^ THE YOKE OF THE THORAH. 


^ Having looked at it : ‘‘ Yes ; she may get here 
any minute now.” Oh, how the prospect made his 
heart throb ! ‘‘ She may be not further than a few 
yards away. — Ah ! — Hark ! I — I hear a footstep. 
I swear, I hear a footstep. Is it she ? It comes 
down the path in this direction. God — God grant 
that it is she. Nearer — nearer — nearer ” 

What was this ? Bending forward, every muscle 
strained, every nerve on tension, to follow the 
footstep that he seemed to hear — suddenly his voice 
failed him, and expired in a low, guttural murmur ; 
suddenly a dreadful spasm contracted all his feat- 
ures ; his face flushed scarlet, then paled as white 
as marble ; his arm flew up into the air, the fingers 
clutching at emptiness ; foam flecked his lips ; a 
groan burst from his throat ; he tottered ; he fell 
headlong to the earth ; a brief, horrible convulsion, 
a protracted shudder ; and he lay there, rigid, 
immobile, as if dead. 

The footstep that he had heard passed on into 
silence. 

The pine-trees that sheltered the rock, screened 
him from sight. This he had used to account one 
of the chief advantages of the spot. Was it an 
advantage now ? Perhaps so ; but he would be very 
bold indeed, who should dare to say yes for certain. 

The cold settled down upon him, and wrapped 
him in its stony embrace. The afternoon wore 
away. The daylight faded into twilight, the twi- 
light into night. And still Elias lay there, alon<“ 
with the deadly cold. 


THE YOKE OF THE THOR AH. 3^9 

In the Bacharach house, on Stuyvesant Square, 
the family were at dinner, with Elias for their topic. 
Where was he now, and what doing ? they wondered. 
Enjoying himself, they hoped. 

By and by the moon came up, and wove a silvery 
garment about him. The next day’s sun came up, 
and bathed him in fire, and arrayed him in cloth-of- 
gold. The sun soared higher and higher. In the 
distance a church clock struck eleven. She was 
being married now, probably. Elias did not stir. 

The wind veered around into the south-west, and 
the temperature grew tolerable again. Then some 
children ventured out, to play in the park. Up to 
the top of this rock they clambered. Next moment, 
in gleeful excitement, they were calling to their 
nurse, whom they had left below in the pathway : 
“ Come, and look at the man asleep ! ” 

The New York papers on Thursday morning 
contained two announcements, divided from each 
other only by a thin black line, thus : 

MARRIED. 

Hosmer — Redwood. — In this city, on February 
1 8th, by the Rev. Dr. Frederick Shepard, Robert 
Emory Hosmer to Christine Redwood. 


DIED. 

Bacharach. — In this city, on Tuesday, Febru- 
ary 17th, suddenly, Elias, beloved husband of 


320 the yoke of the thorah. 

Matilda Morgenthau, and only son of the late 
Abraham Bacharach, M. D., in the twenty-eighth 
year of his age. The Lord gave, and the Lord 
hath taken away ; blessed be the name of the Lord. 
New Orleans papers please copy. 


THE END . 


WORKS BY HENRY HARLAND 

(“SIDNEY LUSKA.”) 


AS IT WAS WRITTEN. 


A Jewish Musician's Story. 

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MRS. PEIXADA. 

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THE YOKE OF THE TKORAH. 

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A LATIN-QUARTER COURTSHIP. 

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GRANDISON MATHER; 

OR, 

An Account of the Fortunes of Mr. and Mrs. Thomas Gardiner. 
1 Vol., 12mo, Extra Cloth, $1.26; Paper, 60 Cents. 


TWO WOMEN OR ONE? 

From the Manuscript of Dr. Leonard Benaly. 

1 Vol., 32mo, Artistic Binding, Cloth Back, etc., 76 Cents. 


TWO VOICES. 


Dies IrcB — De Profundis. 

1 Vol., 32mo, Artistic Binding, Cloth Back, etc., 60 Cents. 


NEW YORK 

THE CASSELL PUBLISHING CO. 

31 East i7th St. (Union Square) 

39 


IN THE “UNKNOWN” LIBRARY. 

[Limp Cloth, Oblong. Each, 50 Cents. 

TBIEl ZnsriJT- 

A MYSTERY. 

By FERGUS HUME, 

Author of ” The Mystery of a Hansom Cabf “ The Fever of Li/e^ 

^'‘The Third Volume f etc.^ etc. 

“ A charming story told in a vein which is fascinating all the way 
through to the end.” — Baltimore Telegram. 

“ This addition to the Unknown Library will be relished by all 
readers who love mystery and the ingenious unraveling of seemingly 
insoluble riddles ... As a piece of invention, ‘ The Lone Inn ’ is 
admirable ; the story entertains the attention, and it is quite impossible 
to lay down the book until the last page.” — Philadelphia Bulletin. 

“ The tale is worthy of its place in the Unknown Library.”— 
Boston Budget. 


GO FORTH AND FIND. 

By THOMAS H. BRAINERD. 

** A powerful story.*'— Boston Globe. 

** Of the usual high class of this series.” — Boston Budget. 

The narrative is free and simple, and the style strong and clear." 
—New York Mail and Express. 

** One of those sweet and wholesome love stories which one lays 
aside with regret.” — The World, New York. 

“ Some of the bits of description are charming. The title-page 
tells us that Thomas H. Brainerd is the author, but the touch is 
apparently that of a woman.” — Public Opinion. 

“ The Unknown Library has in it few disappointments. You are, 
as a rule, sure when you pick up one of its volumes to find that it is 
good. ‘ Go Forth and Find’ is not an exception. It is a charming 
little story full of sweet, pure love-making, noble women and manly 
men. It is just such a tale as one can take up for an odd hour and 
enjoy. There is no mental strain in reading it, but there is whole- 
some entertainment and constant interest.” — Cincinnati Commercial^ 
Gazette. 


THE CASSELL PUBLISHING CO., 

31 East 1 7th St. (Union Square), - New York. 

Ill 


•*THE MOST REMARKABLE ADVENTURE BOOK OF THE DAY. 
A COMBINATION OF DEFOE AND STEVENSON.” 

THE HISPANIOLA PLATE. (1683-1893.) 

By JOHN BLOUNDELLE-BURTON. 

‘ I Vol., i 2 mo, Extra Cloth, $i.oo. 


This story has the merit of combining truth and 
fiction, and contains all the elements that go to make 
an entrancing story of treasure lost and found. It 
has as its groundwork the now almost forgotten 
expedition of Sir Wm. Phipps in search of the 
treasure of a Spanish galleon, lost off “ Hispaniola,” 
or San Domingo, in the reign of Charles II. Mr. 
Bloundelle-Burton has not only revived the story, but 
he has presented it in a new form, with all the 
picturesqueness and vivacity of a captivating novel. 
The tale is exceedingly well written, and is likely to 
meet the demand which at present obtains for the 
historical romance. 

“ Cleverly constructed and vigorously written, thoroughly healthy 
in tone, and embodies not a few scraps of genuine naval history.” — 
Edinburgh Scotsman. 

“It is exciting, romantic, full of adventure, and contains also 
a fascinating live romance.” — Boston Advertiser. 

“ Entertaining from beginning to end.” — The Boston Traveller. 

“ A romance well worth reading. . . It is safe to say that a 
reader with a healthy mind who takes up this story will not put it 
down unfinished.” — Boston Beacon. 

“ The boys, old and young, like a good, stirring tale, and this they 
will find in ‘The Hispaniola Plate.’” — The Evening World, New 
York. 

“Must arouse the interest of anyone with warm blood in his 
veins.” — Brooklyn Citizen. 

“ So vividly is the romance unwound that it seems as though Defoe 
might have written the first part and Robert Louis Stevenson the 
second — The Army and Navy Register. 


THE CASSELL PUBLISHING CO., 

91 East 17th St. (Union Square), - New York* 

no 


SHOULD SHE HAVE LEFT HIM ? 

BY , 


WILLIAM C. HUDSON 


(Barclay North), 


Author of ** The Diamond Button : Whose Was It ? ” ^*Jack Gordon^ 
Knight Errant ^ Gotham^ iSSgf ‘‘Vivier, of Vivier^ Long^ 
man 6r> Co./* **The Man with a Thumb/* **On 
the Rack/* “ The Dugdale Millions/* 


12mo, Cloth, 75 Cents; Paper, 50 Cents. 


“ A good novel and one that will be generally enjoyed.’* 

— Minneapolis Commercial Bulletin. 

“ A novel of an exceedingly complicated and skillfully handled 
plot. It is a story of the brightest interest throughout.” 

— Boston Horne Journal. 

“ One of the most interesting stories of a matrimonial tangle ever 
put in print. Mr. Hudson has written a very clever story which 
holds the attention from beginning to end.” — Minneapolis Journal. 

“ This book has not alone an absorbing and original plot, and 
introduces many delightful and charming people, but it touches on 
some delicate ‘ pros and cons,’ and treats them in a manner which 
leaves food for thought.” — Baltimore Telegram. 

“ It is a story that may be read in two hours, and must be read at 
a sitting, so vivid is the interest. The story is American with foreign 
complications, not unusual, and deals with high society in a most 
familiar way. The story is fully equal to the writer’s former efforts 
in interest.” — St, Louis Mirror, 


FOR SALE BY ALL BOOKSELLERS. 


THE CASSELL PUBLISHING CO., 

31 East 17TH St. (Union Square), New York. 

114 


A FAIR JEWESS 

By B. L. FARJEON 

Author of “ The Last Tenant f “ Bread and Cheese and 
Kisses f “ Griff etc.y etc. 


i2mo, Cloth, $1.00 


“ One of his best, if not indeed his very best.” — Boston Advertiser, 

“ Mr. B. L. Farjeon has written some very charming stories, but 
nothing that surpasses ‘ A Fair Jewess.’ ” — New York World. 

“ It is sad at times, for the true novelist cannot be merely a come- 
dian, but it is reasonable, consistent, and extremely attractive.” — San 
Francisco Chronicle. 

“ A novel with a sound moral to it ; worthy its author, who is one 
of England’s most popular writers.” — Washington Evening Star. 

“ An exciting tale of wrong and treachery which is thwarted in the 
end by justice and love. The Jewish character in some of its noblest 
traits is well illustrated by the story.” — New York Observer. 

“ ‘ A Fair Jewess,’ by B. L. Farjeon, puts the Jewish character 
in a noble and, the reader cannot but feel, a true light. The picture 
of Jewish home life is lovely, and the story is interesting through- 
out.” — New York Evangelist. 

“ Mr. Farjeon’s book is inline with fairer treatment of the Jew, who 
is almost invariably held up to public execration in v.’orks of fiction. 

. . . The plot is too good to anticipate in this notice, but we are 
free to say that it is somewhat novel and is developed with great skill. 
In fact there is not one dull page in the entire 396 which com- 
prise the volume, and the finale is no less dramatic than happy. We 
predict for Mr. Farjeon’s ‘ A Fair Jewess ’ a greater success than any 
of his novels have ever met with in this country.” — Rochester Herald. 


THE CASSELL PUBLISHING CO. 


31 East 17th St. (Union Square), New York 

108 


THE STORY OF FRANCIS CLODDE. 

BY ' 

STANLEY J. WEYMAN, 

Authorcf*^ A Gentleman of France^' “ The Man in 
Blackf etc. 


8to, Extra Cloth, $i.oo ; i2mo. paper, 50 cts. 


** The story is an excellent one ; there are endless stirring' adven- 
tures ^ conspiracies^ dangers^ and escapes^ and there is not a dull page 
throughout. The hero is all a hero should be, brave, generous, 
successful. . . It is a capital book for boys, girls, and grown-up 
people.” — The Guardian. 

“ To say that there is not a dull page in the volume is to say 
little ; there is none that is not overrunning with dramatic incident, 
and this without a moment’s- monotony. Moreover, the style has the 
exceedingly unusual merit of being entirely free from the taint of 
affected archaism, and yet of being in harmony with its period. The 
story of Francis Cludde is altogether one to be enjoyed, both by old 
and young.” — The Graphic. 

“ The story is told with much ingenuity and graphic power of a 
very high order.” — The Bradford Observer. 

There is not a dull page from beginning to end.” — The Western 
Daily Mercury. 

“ ‘ The Story of Francis Cludde* is an admirable piece of work. 
As an essay in what was thought to be the lost art of historical 
romance, it must take very high rank among the best. . . The 
story is laid in the last years of Queen Mary’s reign, and the denoue- 
ment is brought about with great skill and without any straining. 
Everyone is recomrAended to read ‘The Story of Francis Cludde* 
as a capital book in an old style, which is better than the new.”-* 
The Melbourne Argus. 


THE CASSELL PUBLISHING CO., 

31 East 17th St. (Union Square), New York. 

107 










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